


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by Unoriginality



Series: Back To Where We Lasted [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 85,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unoriginality/pseuds/Unoriginality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home means different things for different people, and everyone craves a piece of it for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Gift

"Tony, what the hell are you doing?" Bucky demanded, staring at Tony and wishing he were back in bed, where things made sense.

Tony was hovering at the top of a fifteen foot tall tree, the Iron Man boots the only part of his suit he was wearing, perching a five-point star with red, white, and blue lights, at the top. The whole tree was done up in Old Glory colors, with ornaments in patriotic colors, American flags, stars, and... were those Captain America ornaments?

"I'm decorating your tree," Tony said, wiring the tree star to the lights around the tree, the star lighting up. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Steve is going to fucking kill you," Bucky said, staring at the monstrosity. "When did you drag this in, and how did you slip drugs into my drink so I didn't wake up while you did it?"

"Spangles won't hit me," Tony assured him. "He likes me too much."

"Lucky for you," Bucky said. "But you didn't answer my question. How did you sneak this by me?"

Tony landed back on the ground. "I hope you don't really think I drugged you," he said, looking hurt. "I just had JARVIS run the air vent fan, muffle noises around your room. Probably sounded like nothing more than Cap wandering around out here."

"Yes, I noticed that, and the fact that JARVIS can deafen me like that makes me an unhappy mercenary, I hope you know that." Bucky sighed, then looked back at the tree. "Seriously, Steve is going to have your head on a platter for that."

Tony looked back over his shoulder at the tree. "What, he doesn't like Christmas?"

Bucky stared at him, giving him approximately point oh-three seconds to think real hard about what he just said, before he realized that Tony was being deliberately obtuse, and he wondered why it took that point oh-three seconds to realize that. "He loves Christmas. I don't think he's going to like the patriotic theme, though."

"Well, I could've gone with your color scheme, but black is monochrome and boring and kind of depressing for Christmas, if you ask me," Tony said. "Cap's was more colorful. And red and green have been done to death."

"There's something wrong with other co- wait." Something sank in about then. "They make black Christmas decorations now?"

Tony shrugged. "They make 'em in every color. Gotta please the goth and emo crowds."

Bucky stared at the tree, trying to picture a Christmas tree with black ornaments, and tinsel and lights. "I give up on modern society, for probably the twenty millionth time."

"Twenty-five millionth," Tony corrected. "JARVIS has been keeping count for me."

Bucky glanced up. "Is that true, JARVIS?"

"I cannot say anything to incriminate myself, Mister Barnes," JARVIS replied.

Bucky frowned. "You're not an American citizen, you don't get to plead the Fifth."

"But he can say something I programmed him to," Tony pointed out, walking towards the kitchen in Steve and Bucky's apartment that Tony had welcomed himself into. "Cup of coffee?"

"We don't keep coffee here," Bucky said. "Steve doesn't like it."

Tony stopped and stared at him. "No coffee? But how do you live? And what about you? Don't you like it?"

Bucky sighed, walking to the kitchen, passing by Tony. "Coffee is a false promise of a hit of energy," he said. "Caffeine does about as much for us as alcohol does." He opened the fridge. "We have orange juice."

"Close enough," Tony said. "You know, add a little vodka, you got yourself a good Screwdriver."

Bucky grabbed a couple glasses and poured them some orange juice. "Once again, with the complete lack of effect from alcohol," he said, handing over one glass to Tony before pouring his own.

Tony took a sip of his juice. "What, the flavor's not good enough? Don't you ever want to just taste it, even if it doesn't make with the floaty happy thing?"

Bucky didn't answer at first, taking a drink of his juice and putting the carton away. "Sometimes, but I can just go up to the penthouse if I want a glass," he said. He flashed Tony a smile he usually reserved for Steve when he was about to piss Steve off. "Why buy my own when you can buy some for me?"

That didn't elicit the expected result; instead of a scowl, Tony smiled, a smug smirk that Bucky instantly knew would precede words that Tony shouldn't be saying if he wanted to live. "Ah, finally, the prideful penny pinchers from the dark ages are accepting my generous offers."

Bucky gave him a flat look, deciding to take a drink of his juice before speaking and saying something incoherent. "It's not pride," he said, a bit defensively. "We were just raised differently, that's all."

"You were raised poor and prideful," Tony said.

"And you were raised rich and spoiled," Bucky said. "And I wasn't raised poor. My family didn't lose anything in the crash like everyone else. And I made a good living after I got out of college. It was Steve that was poor after '29."

Tony took another drink, looking like he was formulating a question that he couldn't ask with that juice in his mouth. He swallowed. "What happened with that?"

"His mother was saving money to send him to art school," Bucky said, grabbing the juice carton out of the fridge and pouring himself another glass. "She had everything in the bank. When the banks went under, she lost everything. And with her income, it had been hard to build that up in the first place, especially with treating Steve's health problems. My family never used the banks, we kept everything in cash, so we weren't really hurt too much."

Tony held his glass out for a refill. "What about you? What'd you do that had you living good after college?"

Bucky hesitated, not answering while he poured more juice into Tony's glass. "I worked as a weapon designer for Stark Industries," he said.

Tony stared at him, not moving and for the moment, not saying anything- hallelujah -before setting his glass down on the counter. "You worked for Stark Industries before the war."

Bucky put the juice away again. "Yeah. After the Howling Commandos unit was formed, I helped design some of the stuff we used that wasn't used by the rest of the Army." He made a point of not mentioning that the work he did was directly with Howard. Even though Tony didn't blame him for Howard's death, and at least acted like the fact that Bucky didn't confess to it before it hit the public wasn't as big of a deal as it actually probably was, Bucky didn't like bringing Tony's father up directly in his company. Too much chance for bad feelings to get stirred up again and cause a problem.

"You really were friends with him," Tony said.

Bucky should've expected Tony to do that, walk directly into what Bucky was trying to diplomatically avoid, because while Tony knew _how_ to be diplomatic, that didn't mean he always _was_ diplomatic. He liked bringing up the hard subjects sometimes.

At Bucky's awkward shrug and otherwise lack of response, Tony decided he just had to keep that subject going. "You know, he never really talked about that. He talked a lot about Cap, said he never met a better man. Annoying as hell to hear, growing up. Said a lot about you two as friends. Made me jealous that I never had a friend like that." He took a drink of his juice. "But he never said much about his own friendship with you guys."

Bucky decided that since the subject had been brought up, he might as well jump into it. "Howard didn't always think of things in terms of himself, beyond his work," he said. "He was charismatic, could work a crowd, loved flirting and socializing, but he had some problems actually relating on a personal level with people. He obviously got over them, he got married and had you, but back when I knew him, I never would've expected he'd ever get married and have a kid."

Tony snorted. "He didn't get over them as much as you think. I never really knew him, everything was about work, about what I could do, pushing me. I never really got the impression it was because he was proud of me as his kid. Wasn't until later that I found out that wasn't true." He got quiet, staring off just over Bucky's shoulder. "Guess you really don't always know a person."

Bucky was almost afraid to say something, to interrupt Tony's trip into the past, lest that past come up between them again. Tony wasn't the type to lose people easy, but he also wasn't always very forgiving, and Bucky wasn't always sure how to handle that particular subject at any given second. "He wasn't just that way with you," he finally said.

Tony frowned, staring at his half-empty glass of OJ. "Well, that's good to know," he said. "I like being special, but not like that." He looked up at Bucky, pointing at him with one finger, the rest of his hand still occupied with his glass. "I'm still mad at you for lying about it."

"I know," Bucky said, a bowling ball in his stomach, one fully deserved. "I figured I'd be making up for it for awhile. I tried to say sorry for it."

"Eh." Tony made an ambivalent noise. "You will. Just haven't decided how long you're going to be doing it for." He took a drink. "So tell me, you still any good with designing weapons? Draw me up some stuff, I can have them made for you. Give you something new to play with besides that stuff you got now."

"Haven't done it in awhile," Bucky said, grateful for the subject change. "I'd want to play around a bit, see if the creative brain cells still work."

"According to Cap, you're too creative for your own good," Tony said.

"Ha." Bucky set his empty glass in the sink. "He's just sore that my plans end in more destruction than his do. His don't work as well."

"The 'blow everything up and see what sticks' routine?" Tony said. "That doesn't sound terribly creative."

Bucky chuckled. "No, not quite. Steve's ideas tend to be 'let's go in the front door.' He usually has a good idea behind it, but it's frustrating sometimes." He frowned. "If you want to give me any new toys to play with, I wouldn't mind a new snipe. There's been a few times that would've been helpful. That's when I've had to get creative."

"Design me something," Tony said again. "You get toys when you give me a Christmas list." He handed over his empty glass. "Speaking of Christmas lists, what should I get Spangles this year? He's hard to buy for."

"Tell me about it," Bucky said, taking Tony's glass, which joined his in the sink. "He'll probably say that this place is gift enough, that having friends is gift enough, that Christmas shouldn't be about asking for things, blah blah blah. He's annoying that way."

Tony heaved a heart-felt sigh. "I guess you're no better?"

"Not really," Bucky said, not sorry at all. "I've never been big into getting gifts. Always preferred giving them. Which always made Steve unhappy, because I could give more than he could."

"And it's harder now, since you two are practically a married couple, complete with shared finances and household necessities," Tony said.

Bucky decided to not retort to the 'married couple' crack. "I'll tell you what you can get me, if you want."

Tony held out his hands. "Finally, someone wants something I can give them. I'm all ears."

"I want to see my brother for Christmas," Bucky said.

"I'll have him delivered to your apartment with a bow and bells," Tony said before Bucky could say anything more.

Bucky made a face. "You know, when he was a kid, that would've been funny, but he's a retired Navy lieutenant. That'd be past funny into weird territory."

"Navy? Your family is too patriotic."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "It's not patriotism, it's stupidity, and it runs rampant."

"Won't deny that, but I was counting Cap in that," Tony said. "So the stupidity is genetic, but what about him? What's his excuse?"

Bucky sighed. "He hates bullies, and decided that the Axis Powers were bullies. Dumb kid never ran away from their kind, even when it got his ass kicked."

"So it's stupidity," Tony said. "Can genetics be contagious?"

"Oh no, you're not shifting blame for him to my family," Bucky said. "He's Irish, the stupidity was innate in him before I met him."

"Speaking of our bonny lad, where'd he go? JARVIS just said he went out," Tony said.

Bucky glanced at the calendar, then at the clock. "To some local hospitals, see if any of them want him to come by to the children's wards in costume. It's something he likes to do for the kids." He frowned. "But with the whole 'my best friend is a psychotic killer' mess earlier this month, it's a question of if any hospitals would be willing to chance the wrath of the parents, not wanting that influence around their kids."

Tony made a thoughtful noise. "What about you?"

"Want some breakfast?" Bucky asked, ignoring the question for the moment, mostly because goddamnit, he was hungry and wanted to make food, and Tony hanging there, making conversation, was stopping Bucky from doing it politely.

Tony shook his head. "Already ate. But what about you? Doing any altruistic work this year?"

Once again, Bucky didn't answer, focused on finding something to eat. Tony was waiting patiently, like an obnoxious brother waiting for Bucky to give him something he wanted and wouldn't be deterred. Bucky continued to ignore him until he'd poured himself a bowl of cereal. "I doubt it," he finally said. "Again with the 'psychotic killer' thing. Public opinion probably isn't the greatest about me right now."

"It's not too bad," Tony said. "I've been keeping an eye on the news. Most people are on your side. Hydra bad, Howling Commandos good, Cap better, Cap likes the Winter Soldier, so he can't be too bad. You might accidentally get to go with Cap to those hospitals." Before Bucky could protest, mouth full of Froot Loops, Tony continued, "besides, trying to do something good might help win over the doubters."

Bucky sighed, swallowing. "Maybe. What about the billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? What day should we pick to hide here instead of going into the rest of the building where you might be hosting something?"

Tony pointed at him like a parent about to send a misbehaving child to their room to 'think about what they did'. "You're not hiding. And for your information, Stark Industries is hosting a charity ball, like we do every year, and yes, it'll be here, and yes, you're coming. You don't get to argue." He gave Bucky a stern look. "And I mean that, no arguments."

Bucky snapped his mouth closed, having opened it to argue. "Why?" That wasn't an argument in Bucky's mind.

"Because more celebrities showing up makes more other people with money show up and donate, and it all goes to a good cause. You can consider it your Christmas gift to me. I like having friends at parties."

The idea of a relatively painless gift to give to the man who had everything was winning Bucky over. "What charity?"

Tony looked hesitant. "Well, we usually give to children's charities, homeless charities, medical charities, things like that."

"And this year?"

Tony looked like he wanted that glass of juice to hide behind again. "The Humane Society."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, studying that reaction, then smothered a laugh. "Lemme guess, your princess got to your black little heart?"

Tony made a face at him. "You ruined me."

"And I am not sorry," Bucky said.

"You should be," Tony said. He looked back at the tree. "When's Cap supposed to be back, you know?"

Bucky eyed the tree. "Just have JARVIS let you know when he gets back," he said. "Because I have no idea. Depends on how many places he visits, and what sort of reactions he gets." He looked at Tony. "Relax, you'll get a chance to be killed by him for that thing."

"If he can catch me," Tony said, clanking one booted foot on the ground pointedly.

"You'd better hope he doesn't sprout wings and fly," Bucky said. "He just might."

Tony laughed. "If he can do that, I will let him kick me around."

"Don't tell him that," Bucky said. Then he sighed. "So how dressed up do we have to get for this dumb charity ball of yours?"

"Black tie affair, my friend," Tony said. "Don't worry, we'll get you something custom tailored. You won't have to go browsing."

"You're letting us pay for our own damn suits," Bucky said, finishing off his cereal.

"Yeah, suppose you have to pay for something of your own eventually," Tony said with his usual smartass smirk.

Bucky shot him a dirty look, rinsing his bowl and sticking it in the dishwasher. "When's the ball scheduled?"

"The nineteenth," Tony said.

Bucky glanced at the calendar again. "That's not a lot of time for a custom suit," he said.

"It's enough," Tony said. "Relax, the guy who does this on a regular basis knows what he's doing." He scowled, looking back towards the door again. "Okay, would you call Cap and tell him to get his ass back here? I worked hard on that tree, I will not be happy today until I get to run away from him."

"Eager to die?" Bucky asked, going to look for the cell phone.

"I'm a masochist," Tony said, following him, the boots clanking, even on thick carpet.

Bucky paused and looked back at him. "Would you take those dumb things off? You look ridiculous."

Tony shrugged, then waved his arm and walked out of the boots. "JARVIS, take those pieces home, would you?"

"Of course, sir," JARVIS replied, and the boots flew off, through the apartment door that JARVIS opened just in time, and then disappeared as the door shut again.

Bucky stared. "The individual pieces can fly on their own."

"Good observation" Tony said, taking a seat on the couch, studying the tree. "You expected anything less amazing from me?"

"I never expect anything but weird from you," Bucky said, finally locating the work cell phone. _Tony says to get home. You'll want to kill him._ He clicked send on the text, sending it to their regular phone, then set the cell phone down on the table. "I'm getting dressed. I'm not helping either of you in this fight in my sleep clothes."

Tony waved him off. "Yeah, you look frumpy. Go pretty up for my death."

Bucky shot him a glare. "I just don't want blood on my only set of winter pajamas," he said, then headed back for his bedroom.

"You need to go shopping if you only have one set!" Tony called after him.

Bucky made an apathetic noise in Tony's direction before going into his room and shutting the door. "JARVIS, what's the temperature in here?" he asked, looking through his closet.

"It's currently sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit," JARVIS replied. "Outside, it is thirty-eight. Might I suggest something warm?"

"Ooh, talk sarcasm to me," Bucky said, grabbing a shirt and pull-over sweater. "Your suggestion is duly noted." He changed quickly, debated briefly about pulling on socks, since his toes were cold, but since he hated the feeling of socks on carpet, he decided to just complain about it at Tony, instead.

"You got a text," Tony said, once Bucky had rejoined him in the living room. Tony paused, staring at Bucky. "You're wearing cargoes with a sweater."

Bucky looked down at himself. "It looks fine. And I like cargoes. They're more convenient than jeans." He went to his chair and sat down, grabbing the phone. "Besides, it's not like I'm going out on a date like this." He eyed the text. _I'm on my way up. Tell Tony to start running,_ it said. He looked at Tony. "Sounds like he's already here. He says to start running."

Tony did not seem to have any inclination to move. "Good. JARVIS? How much time do I have?"

"About thirty seconds, sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony adjusted his position, crossing one leg over the other, arms resting on the back of the couch, looking like a man at peace with his impending death. He looked at Bucky. "Think he'll like it?"

Bucky gave him a tired look. "I already told you what he'll think of it."

Tony nodded once, looking back at the tree. Bucky was waiting patiently, counting the seconds, and while Tony looked like he was just admiring his handiwork, Bucky had a feeling he was keeping just as careful of a count.

Twenty-eight point four seconds later, the door opened. Bucky glanced over to see Steve round the corner from the entryway, and stop. And stare. And slowly look down at Tony.

Tony looked back over his shoulder at him. "Welcome home! Like the tree?"

Bucky counted off ten more seconds before Steve showed any reaction, his reaction being to introduce his forehead to the palm of his hand. "Tony? A patriotic Christmas tree?"

"What? It's in your colors," Tony said. "It matches your eyes." He motioned to Bucky. "His colors were too depressing to work with."

"Whatever happened to red and green?" Steve demanded, walking over to the tree and studying some of the ornaments. "And where the hell did you find Captain America ornaments?"

"Those were not actually hard to find," Tony said. "And red and green is overdone. I wanted something that was uniquely you."

"You could've gone with Ireland's colors," Bucky said, completely unhelpfully.

Steve flashed him a dirty look. "Don't you start, you filthy colonist."

"Dirty immigrant."

"Gentlemen, please," Tony said, cutting in. "It's Christmas. Good will and all that. We'll talk immigration reform and the ethics of colonization of the Americas later. We'll do that at the New Year. Ring it in with an argument."

"Is that how you always ring in the new year?" Steve asked.

Tony looked thoughtful. "Well, no, I'm usually in bed with a beautiful woman, but since I'll have most of the Avengers here this year, I think I'll do that after a party."

"Most?" Steve turned away from the tree to face Tony and Bucky more.

"Well, Thor _was_ going to spend the holidays with his girlfriend over in London, but she's out on research, something came up, so he's staying out here." He took a deep breath. "We still don't know where Natasha and Clint are."

Bucky looked down at the ground, then at his feet, which were still cold, and crossed his legs underneath him to warm them. Natasha had disappeared just after he and Steve had left Nebraska, and Bucky had a feeling it was to join Clint out in the Middle East, but without having been able to understand their conversation, he couldn't be sure. They just knew that Natasha took off after Steve and Bucky were safely at Fort Meade and their equipment was in CIA hands.

"No word from Homeland?" Steve asked.

Tony gave Steve an incredulous look. "You say that like they'd hand over that information willingly."

"I wasn't talking willingly, Tony," Steve said.

"Fair enough." Tony tapped a finger on the back of the couch where his hand was still resting. "No, nothing from any of the other agencies, either. I think they dropped off the government's radar. Found some trouble that Homeland didn't actually want them in."

Steve looked away, out the window. "Which means they could be anywhere. They could need our help."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, and we're supposed to give it to them how? We don't even know where they are. Believe me, Spangles, I'm looking. I have all my resources on it. Some you don't even know about. Either we'll find them dead, or they'll come out of hiding when they can. And knowing them? They'll probably show up on Christmas morning, just to say that Santa and his reindeer dropped them off."

Steve looked back at the tree, and Bucky could see his brain turning corners to a safer subject. "You expect me to keep this thing, don't you?" he asked, pointing to the tree.

Tony looked offended. "What, you wouldn't want to keep my hard work, my gift to a friend? I'm insulted, Captain."

"Only you could make a prank into a genuine gift," Steve said, aggravated.

"Probably the other way around," Bucky said.

"Both ways," Steve said, correcting them both.

Tony looked smug. "And thus, my brilliance shines."

In the name of keeping Tony from ego-stroking further, Bucky made the conversation take another left turn. "So what'd the hospitals say?" he asked Steve.

Steve looked momentarily confused, then caught up with the direction Bucky had gone. "They mostly all seemed welcoming. Couple asked about you."

"What'd you tell them?" Bucky asked, already suspecting that at least one had said 'kiss off' at the idea of the Winter Soldier showing up around a bunch of kids.

Steve shrugged. "Told them it was up to you. One outright asked me not to bring you. I told them I wouldn't be showing up, either."

Bucky gave him an annoyed look. "Steve, that's not fair to the kids." Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky walked right over that. "Don't worry about a bunch of mooks hurting my feelings. Those kids are sick and dying, you shouldn't disappoint them. I'm a grown man, I can handle the criticism of a bunch of adults whose panties are soiled."

Tony snorted, laughing through his nose. Steve shot him a 'shut your mouth' look for about one whole second before Tony managed to stop laughing enough to say something. "I could always buy the hospital, kick out the old curmudgeons."

"Is that your answer to everything?" Steve demanded. "Throw around money?"

"And the weight of my name," Tony said. "Which I know _you_ have done yourself."

Steve went quiet in that way that said he couldn't deny the allegations, but didn't really want to confess to them, either.

"Besides," Tony continued. "I have so much of it, why not? Better than buying myself another Audi, right?"

Steve sighed. "You're not buying the hospital, Tony," he said. "I'll deal with them."

"Play nice, Steve," Bucky said. "Don't make me come with you to put a muzzle on you."

"So you're coming with?"

"No," Bucky said. "I don't want any parents suing the hospitals for letting a known assassin near their children. I might do something else, but not something so high-profile."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "And how do you plan on hiding your profile from the high places? You've been all over the news for the past three weeks."

Bucky hadn't considered that. "Dunno. I just want to do something."

"Then do something high-profile," Tony said. "I told you, being visible with charity work will help win over the naysayers. And helping your reputation will help Cap's. You two still work together, your reputations hinge on each other's."

Bucky sunk in his seat, looking at Steve for help.

Steve shrugged. "He makes a point, Bucky," he said, not being helpful at all.

"I'll think about it," Bucky said. "And that's all you're getting from me, so don't push."

"Not pushing," Tony said. "Hey, got any more of that orange juice?"

Bucky motioned behind him to the kitchen. "Go help yourself." He paused as Tony got up. "And that's not an invitation to just take the carton."

"Spoil sport."


	2. The Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky chooses his personal crusade for the season: the subject of a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers who celebrate it, Merry Christmas! (It's Christmas here, timezones can bugger off.)

Bucky scrolled through the contacts on Steve's phone; well, technically _their_ phone. But nobody had reason to call Bucky without Steve needing to not know about it. Rather than mess around with a plan and phone he wouldn't use more than a few times a month at best, Bucky didn't bother getting his own.

"Steve, why do you have so many damn numbers in here?" he demanded. "Do you even know this many people?"

Steve glanced over from the kitchen, where he was chopping vegetables in preparation for their lunch. "Hm? Oh, a lot of those are organizations I work with. Why? Who're you looking for?"

"I'm trying to get ahold of Wilson," Bucky said. "Oh, here he is." He gave Steve a dirty look. "You organized these according to last name, when the contact shows by first name."

Steve frowned. "I keep meaning to fix that." He paused, setting his knife aside. "Why are you trying to contact Sam? You've barely said five words to him in the past two years."

"Got some questions for him, that's all," Bucky said a bit evasively, staring at Sam's contact in the phone. Steve was right, Bucky had barely said 'hi' to Sam before, and Sam was one of the few people still alive that Bucky had tried to kill as Hyrda's Winter Soldier. Didn't exactly make for a casual conversation.

"What about?" Steve asked, picking the knife back up and chopping the carrots.

"Nosy bastard, ain'tcha?" Bucky said, sitting down on the couch and grabbing his tablet off the table, pulling it out of sleep and studying the web page it was still open to, the phone now on his lap.

"You knew that," Steve said, completely unaffected by Bucky's entirely not serious jab. "Seriously, I know you don't necessarily want contact with him, I might be able to answer your questions instead."

Bucky looked over at him. "Unless you're familiar with the VA's programs for homeless vets, I doubt it."

Steve paused mid-chop, the knife thunking against the cutting board quietly. "You know someone?"

Bucky shook his head. "No. Ran into one in Lincoln while you and Natasha were grocery shopping, but no, not personally." He shrugged. "You have children's hospitals. I think I'll be more welcome helping in this area than with a bunch of kids."

"How'd you get back in if you left while we were gone?" Steve asked, resuming his work. "Natasha had the only key."

Bucky made a point of looking at the phone, the screen of which had gone idle, instead of at Steve. "I may have forgotten to lock the door."

"You forgot?"

"I was having a moment," Bucky said, dismissing the subject. He didn't feel like giving details, and Steve knew that 'having a moment' was usually translated to 'having a nervous breakdown and stopped thinking'.

Steve was silent for a few seconds, and Bucky heard the sounds of a knife scraping on the cutting board. "You usually lock yourself in the bathroom when you have those moments."

"Yeah, in my own bathroom, instead of a stranger's, who I don't want to catch me having one of those attacks," Bucky said. "I'm glad I was thinking well enough for that." He looked over. "And it gave me my crusade for the season. I might've hidden in our pretty gilded tower this year like I did last year otherwise."

Steve's back was to him, working at the stove with the vegetables he'd just finished chopping. "You could always join me at the hospitals. I don't think you'd be as unwelcome as you think you would be."

"Maybe some other year," Bucky said. "Give the shitfit over my past a chance to settle down." He gave Steve a sidelong look. "I think you're just trying to stir shit with that hospital that didn't want me around by trying to drag me around with you."

Steve chuckled, glancing back at him. "Maybe." Then he motioned with his spatula. "Make that call before I interrupt you with lunch."

Bucky made a face and looked back at the phone. He'd never precisely said sorry for trying to kill Sam beyond a mumbled and uncomfortable one-word apology when Steve first tried to introduce them. Sam was nice, always inquired about Bucky when he and Steve talked, according to Steve, but Steve had tried to acquaint them to each other too early in Bucky's recovery for it to stick. And now Bucky felt guilty about it.

Well, he needed the help from Sam, and now was as good a time as any to try that whole interpersonal relations thing again, if only for Steve's sake. So after setting the tablet down on his lap, he picked the phone back up and brought it back from idle and clicked send on the number.

The line rang twice before Sam answered with a "hey, what's up, Steve?"

Bucky took a breath. "It's not Steve."

The line went silent a moment. "I'll be goddamned. Never thought I'd hear your voice again."

"I'm surprised you recognize it," Bucky said. "We haven't exactly talked."

"I wasn't going to be the one to say that," Sam said. "I guess you're not making a social call?"

"Not exactly," Bucky admitted. "You work for the VA."

"Is that a question or a statement?" Sam asked.

"Just confirming you haven't changed jobs."

"No, I haven't," Sam said. "Weird conversation opener, though. You looking into benefits or something?"

Bucky frowned, glancing over at Steve, who was pretending to not be paying attention, but Bucky knew him better than that. "No, nothing like that. I decided to make homelessness among vets my personal crusade for awhile. Either the VA's home page is shit, or it's useless as far as stats go. Not liking what I'm finding on other pages, though."

Sam made a conceding noise. "The VA doesn't like advertising its failures, no," he said. "Good cause to get behind, though. So whatcha need me for? I don't have access to any numbers on New York, just what I can get here in DC."

"I can get those myself," Bucky said. "Assuming I can get them to talk to me. Which is why I called you. I'm kind of _persona non grata_ right now."

"A character reference, then," Sam said. "Yeah, man, I can give that, gimme a bit to find out who I need to talk to. But you do realize that they're not going to send you away, right? You're a war vet, and a former POW on top of it. No matter what else, the VA knows better than to shit on that. Especially when you're offering help with a problem that's been a thorn in their foot."

"Just get me in the door, Sam," Bucky said. "I can deal with them from there."

"If they give you problems, remind them you donated your back pay to them," Sam said. "Gimme a couple hours, I have a group coming in in about fifteen minutes. I'll call you once I've gotten in touch with your local office. You're in Manhattan, right?"

"That's right."

"I'll hit up the directory later, then," Sam said. "Anything else I can help you with? Steve need anything? Oh, tell him hi, by the way."

Bucky looked over at Steve. "Sam says 'hi'."

Steve looked away from the stove at Bucky. "Hi, Sam," he said, raising his voice a bit to be heard through the phone.

"So what else can I do to help a fellow vet out?" Sam asked, and Bucky could hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky chewed on the inside of his lip a moment. "Sorry for trying to kill you," he finally spat out. Not the best apology in the world, but at least it was genuine, rather than an awkward social nicety, like it was when they first met.

Sam laughed. "You still on that? Relax, I know that wasn't you. Steve was right, you were still in there. I liked being proven wrong."

Relief unknotted the lump in Bucky's stomach and he sighed. "It took awhile."

"I work with vets all the time," Sam said. "None of them have gone through even a fraction of what you have and it takes them awhile to work things out. I'd say you weren't human if it didn't take you some time. So. Now that you've decided to break the ice here, what do you want me to call you?"

"Everyone always asks me that," Bucky said. "Bucky's fine. I only go by James when I'm in trouble."

"Which is frequently," Steve said, once again loud enough to be heard over the phone.

"Can it, Rogers," Bucky said.

Sam laughed. "Good to finally hear what Steve's been talking about. Anyway, look, I've got group here soon, and I was in the middle of a gourmet bologna and cheese that I carefully prepared at home and brought in a little paper bag, so I gotta go. I'll call you later when I've contacted the local VA there."

"Thanks," Bucky said, then said goodbye and hung up. He looked over at Steve, trying to figure out what was for lunch by the smell. It smelled good, whatever it was. It also smelled like it might be Thai food, maybe Indian. It smelled spicy. "What're you cooking?"

"Pad Thai," Steve answered.

"Not with shrimp, I hope?"

Steve looked back at him. "Bucky. You're allergic to shellfish. Please explain to me why I would put shellfish in your food, knowing that?"

Bucky shrugged. "Just checking. You know, one of these days we should probably see if I actually am still allergic, or if that went away with about everything else."

Steve turned back to the food. "I'm not going to be the one to conduct that experiment, and you aren't either without Bruce there with a Benadryl shot to stick in your ass."

"Worry wart," Bucky said.

"And you have absolutely no room to speak," Steve said, sounding annoyed. "Or do we need to take a trip to before the serum? Or even a few months ago when I had that ear infection and you spent all day harassing me?"

"I did not," Bucky protested. "I let you sleep all day. The only fussing I did was to make you actually call Bruce for medical advice. I did nothing more than I was advised to do by the doctor. That doesn't constitute harassing you. You're just a whiny patient."

"I don't whine, Bucky," Steve said, sounding like he was sulking because he knew he was wrong but was protesting anyway.

"The hell you don't," Bucky said. "The very first thing you did that morning was to tell me to put you out of your misery. That's whining."

Steve didn't say anything in reply, which was concession for him.

Bucky decided to take his victory with grace. "Told you so."

"Keep it up, and you don't get lunch," Steve warned.

Bucky flashed him a toothy grin that Steve didn't see with his back to him. "You wouldn't starve me, you like me too much."

"Starve you, no," Steve said. "Make you make your own food, yes."

"You're making too much for just you," Bucky said. "Do you really think you'd stop me from taking what's left for myself?"

There was that silent concession again. Bucky couldn't help but take that one gracefully, too. "I didn't think so."

"Shut up, Bucky," Steve said grumpily, cracking eggs into their wok.

Bucky decided to be nice and change the subject. "So Tony gave us an easy gift to get him for Christmas."

"I'm already terrified to hear what it is," Steve said.

"He wants us to show up for his black tie charity ball this year," Bucky said. "He demanded custom suits."

"What?" Steve turned, looking back at Bucky, food momentarily forgotten. "When is this? Those take forever to get made."

"The nineteenth," Bucky said. "And that's what I told him, but he said there'd be time. The only thing I could argue with him for was so we would pay for our own damn suits. If it's a present to him, I don't think we should make him pay for the wrapping paper."

Steve snorted, turning back to the food that smelled almost done and about damn time, it was driving Bucky crazy. His stomach was starting to protest smelling food and not getting food. "Given how he likes throwing money at his friends, I'm surprised you managed that."

"It was actually easy," Bucky said. "I didn't think to get the name of a place that could make custom suits in time." He frowned. "Hey, JARVIS, where does Tony usually go for those things?"

"Mister Stark patronizes Tucci Clothiers," JARVIS said. "Stark Industries is its parent company. There is a location here in the building."

"Convenient," Bucky said. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"You are quite welcome, Mister Barnes."

Bucky huffed. "I wish Tony hadn't programmed you to be so damn formal. That's annoying."

"I am sorry, Mister Barnes," JARVIS said, sounding about as sorry as an AI actually could. "I cannot operate outside of the parameters of my programming."

"Eh." Bucky made the facial equivalent of a shrug. "I know what that's like. Just tell Tony I don't approve."

"I'm sure he will appreciate knowing that," JARVIS said. "I will pass along the message."

Bucky rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "You know, for not being able to be anything but formal, he sure is a smartass," he said to Steve.

Steve laughed. "He was programmed by one, you expected anything else?"

"Well, at first, yeah," Bucky said. "But then I got to know Tony and realized he had no damn charm. Not expecting anything else at this point."

"Come get food," Steve said, pulling out plates from the cupboard and setting them on the counter by the stove. "Tony's got charm, it's just peculiar charm."

Bucky walked over to the kitchen, grabbing one of the plates. He still wasn't used to thinking of them as theirs, they looked different from the plates they'd been using the last year and a half, and Bucky had gotten used to certain things being a stable point for him. Everything was all different now, and while it didn't upset him, it jarred him sometimes.

He'd get used to it.

"I'm not sure 'peculiar' is strong enough," he said, taking a generous helping of the food.

"I'm not sure 'asshole' is a strong enough word for you every time I let you dish up first," Steve grumbled. "Don't take it all, or next time I cook, you don't get any at all."

Bucky stopped and glared at Steve. "I am not taking it all," he said. "And you do this every damn time. Are we going to keep having this argument until we're old?"

Steve gave him a level sort of look that said that Bucky had just said something stupid. "Bucky, you'll be a hundred in a few years. I think we're past being 'old'."

Bucky grabbed a fork and stabbed his food pointedly. "Okay, fine, when we're wrinkly and grey, is that better?"

Steve laughed. "With our luck, that might be another hundred years," he said, pushing Bucky out of the way so he could get his food. "Go sit down, before you start eating standing up like a twenty-something college kid in his first tiny apartment. We have more class than that around here."

Bucky made a point of taking a bite before flipping Steve off and walking to the table. Once he'd managed to swallow, he gave Steve a flat look. "We have class? Since when? We're a couple of old bachelors who blow shit up for a living."

"Okay, so we have fun, but it's classy fun," Steve said, joining him. "At the very least, we have better manners than that."

"Oh god, please stop sounding like our mothers," Bucky said. "I got enough of it growing up, I don't need it now that I'm a senior citizen."

Rather than laughing and continuing to snark back, Steve studied him with a look that Bucky had grown to recognize the last year and a half, a look that said Bucky had said something that had thrown Steve off into the distant past, or into the unhappy, nebulous in-between that happened after Bucky died, until the night he'd shown up at Steve's apartment and ended up moving in.

And Bucky really hated that look. "Steve, please stop staring at me like that," he said.

Steve shook his head. "I was just thinking," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Bucky said. "And I have a pretty good idea about what, and stop it. You know I hate that."

Steve shoved around some Thai rice noodles with his fork, frowning in thought. "No, it wasn't really what you think. I just sometimes still have a moment when I'm reminded that I'm older than thirty. I'm not supposed to be older than that yet." He looked back up at Bucky. "So no, it wasn't just about you. Stop being so egocentric."

"Ooh, a five dollar word," Bucky said between bites. "Serious debate going on here." Then he pointed his fork at Steve. "And I never once said you were necessarily thinking about anything related to me, but that look means you're lost somewhere more than seventy years ago, and you really gotta stay in the modern day. Brooding doesn't become you."

"Says the man who has spent the last year and a half living in the past," Steve said.

"I'm a dirty hypocrite, you know that," Bucky said around a mouthful of food. "But seriously, don't do that. It sucks, and one of us should be more functional than that."

"Why does it have to be me?" Steve asked, and Bucky couldn't entirely tell how serious that was.

He chewed and swallowed before answering, mostly to buy himself a few precious seconds to think of the best way to answer that question. "In the name of not dickwaving trauma at each other, I guess it doesn't have to be."

"Then let me have my moments," Steve said, somewhat irritable.

Bucky stared down at his plate, then sighed. "Look, you don't have to ask permission," he said, looking up at Steve, who looked ridiculous with his fork in his mouth and a rice noodle sticking out. "I know I'm not the only one that needs a listening ear from time to time. I just would rather you not have to need one."

Steve didn't answer, too polite to talk with food in his mouth, unlike Bucky, until he finally swallowed. "You're too overprotective for my own good," he finally said.

"I'm the older brother, I'm supposed to be," Bucky said. "And you like to find shit to get into."

"Shut up and eat," Steve said, directly avoiding that accusation.

"Do you speak to Sharon like that?" Bucky gave him a shit-eating grin.

Steve returned that grin right back. "How I speak to Sharon is none of your business."

Bucky's smile softened. "I just hope my lessons sank in. According to Howard, you didn't know how to handle Peggy to save your life. I was disappointed in you."

"Trying to put lessons into practical application takes a bit of trial and error," Steve said.

"So how are things going with you and Sharon?" Bucky asked. "On the subject of you and women."

Steve shrugged. "We've only had a couple dates, it's kinda hard to judge on that." Then he got the same goofy grin he'd get when Bucky would ask about Peggy. "I don't think it's going badly, though. I haven't scared her off with my old-fashioned ways yet, at any rate."

"She probably likes you for those ways," Bucky said. "And good, it's about time you got a girl that deserves you. The dames I found weren't good enough. Sorry about that, by the way."

"You looked for different qualities than I wanted, that's all," Steve said.

Bucky made a guilty noise. "Still, I feel bad. I stopped being there to try, and you found a girl that you deserved. Not helping my batting average."

"Would it make you feel better if I start asking the female Avengers if they have any friends you can meet?" Steve asked with that horrible, bratty smile that he deserved to be smacked on the nose for.

Since Bucky didn't want to accidentally smack a forkful of food away from Steve's mouth by smacking his nose, he settled for kicking Steve's ankle under the table. "You're an asshole."

Steve laughed. "It was a genuine offer. I know you never really got a chance with Maggie, and with the news lately, it's going to be hard for awhile to find someone."

"Eh. I'll live. Right now, I have more important things to focus on." He glanced over at the cell phone. "Like willing time to speed up so I can get to work with the VA already."

"You know, you are the most amazing creature alive sometimes," Steve said. "You can be as patient as a rock on one thing, then as _im_ patient as a toddler the next."

Bucky sighed. "I never did like the hurry up and wait part of things. I have something to do, but I can't do it yet. This isn't like setting up for a snipe, this is like sitting in the foxhole, wondering when the gunfire is going to start."

"How long did Sam say it was going to be?"

"Couple hours," Bucky said, finishing off his food. "He had a group coming in in a few minutes when I called."

Steve slid his empty plate over to Bucky. "Go do the kitchen, we'll go down to this Tucci place and get fitted while we wait for Sam. Might as well be productive while you're waiting."

"Better than sitting around here," Bucky agreed, grabbing their plates.

While Bucky started rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, Steve grabbed his laptop. "I should have Tony upgrade this," he said. "It's starting to get slow."

"He'll probably just build you a new one," Bucky said, glancing over.

Steve frowned. "I don't want it replaced, it still works fine, it's just a bit slow. That's wasteful."

"Electronics aren't built to last the way they were in our time, Steve," Bucky said, running some soapy water to clean the wok in. "Welcome to the modern world, fellow temporally-displaced friend who is baffled by the future."

"At least we can be baffled together," Steve said. "Okay, let's see what this Tucci place is like."

"Expensive," Bucky said helpfully.

"Thank you, Master Of The Obvious," Steve said, tapping away at his keyboard, then sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, God, you were right about expensive."

Bucky paused, soapy wok and hands just centimeters from the stream of water for rinsing, and looked back at Steve. " _How_ expensive?" he asked, wary of the answer.

"Standard fit suits? Over three thousand a shot, depending on size."

The wok clattered into the empty sink as Bucky set it down hard. "How much?" he said, voice cracking into a squeak of disbelief. "For one suit that we'll never wear again?"

"Brace yourself," Steve said, a look of horror on his face. "Custom fit is a thousand more."

"For one suit. One. Suit." Bucky shook his head. "Okay, JARVIS, how many times have I given up on modern society counting now?"

"Quite a few, Mister Barnes," JARVIS said. "Shall I inform Mister Stark you need assistance with the suits?"

Steve sighed. "No, JARVIS, we can afford it. We're just... we grew up before inflation got like this. It's a heart attack."

"Inflation has risen one thousand, five hundred and forty-four percent since nineteen forty," JARVIS said. "If it at all makes the price make more sense, that would be equivalent to two hundred and fifty-nine dollars in nineteen forty."

Bucky and Steve stared at each other for a minute, then they both nodded. "Better," they said.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said, while Bucky picked the wok back up and rinsed it out before setting it in the dish drainer.

"You are quite welcome, sirs. Shall I inform the employees at Tucci Clothiers that you will be there momentarily?"

"What floor are they on?" Steve asked.

"Thirty-fourth floor, Captain," JARVIS said.

When Steve looked questioningly at him, Bucky drained the sink and grabbed a towel to dry off his hands. "We can go now," he said in answer to the unasked question.

Steve closed his laptop and set it aside. "Go ahead and give them warning, JARVIS," Steve said. "Thanks." Bucky finished drying his hands, then headed towards his room.

Steve stopped by the closet door next to the front door and stared at him. "Where're you going? Your shoes are right here."

Bucky gave him a dirty look and kicked out one bare foot pointedly. "I need socks."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Bucky, it's cold out, you should be wearing socks."

"I hate the feeling of socks on carpet," Bucky protested. "I don't tell you what to wear to be comfortable around here, don't tell me, _Mother._ "

That just made Steve roll his eyes again. "Get your socks, Bucky. God, you're weird."

"No weirder than you," Bucky said over his shoulder, heading into his room. Once socks had been acquired and put on, he rejoined Steve in the entranceway and grabbed his boots.

"That's another thing we'll have to pick up," Steve said, watching Bucky pull on his boots. "Dress shoes. I don't think our Sunday Best are going to go well with a black tie suit. Tony might step on our toes for trying to get them to pass."

"Oh. Great. Shoe shopping. My favorite past time," Bucky said with a frustrated growl as he finished lacing his boots. "Because finding shoes in my size is so easy. Tony'd better be saying thank you for this gift we're giving him. I already hate it."

Steve laughed. "You'll survive. Trying to find shoes is hard for me, too. My feet used to be too small, now they're too big."

"Wasn't just your feet we had trouble shopping for," Bucky said, motioning to the door. "Lock up behind us, JARVIS."

"Of course, Mister Barnes."


	3. Sharon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gave her a look of death, took a deep breath. "Fine. But you're not going to try to follow me in a cab. If you're going to be a shadow, you're keeping me company."
> 
> "Acceptable compromise," Sharon said. "We'll take my car."
> 
> Bucky looked at Steve. "You find the most annoying women."

The clothiers wasn't even a clothing store in that there wasn't anything on the racks. Bucky supposed that probably shouldn't have surprised him, it was a high end company that Tony figured was nice enough to just buy out so he had it on hand for his personal use. Tony liked off the rack clothes for the most part, if those band t-shirts he liked to wear in warmer weather were any indication, but for important public appearances, a man in his position would have to go for the nice stuff. Which meant all custom.

Well, at least custom meant that it'd actually fit without being either too tight on his left shoulder, or too loose on his right. And Steve might accidentally fit into something in general. Stupid, dumb, broad shoulders. It'd been a few years and sometimes Bucky still had to make himself remember that they didn't have to look in teen sizes instead of adult sizes for clothes that would fit Steve's tiny frame.

A man in a nice suit and tie approached them as they entered. On his lapel was pinned a name tag listing him as Stanley. "Welcome to Tucci Clothiers. May I help you, gentlemen?"

Steve held out his hand to shake Stanley's. "Steve Rogers." He motioned to Bucky. "James Barnes. JARVIS said he'd let you know we were on our way."

"Oh! Yes, he did," Stanley said. "He said this was for Mister Stark's upcoming charity ball?"

"That's right."

Stanley nodded. "You will get our best. It's an honor to meet you both." He half turned to lead them further into the store. "This way." He led them away from the store front, around what turned out to be a set of mirrors with their backs towards the entrance to provide privacy for the customers getting measured. "The charity ball is the nineteenth, if memory serves?"

"That's what Tony told me," Bucky said. "Can you make them that fast?"

Stanley smiled, waving one hand towards the platform in front of the mirrors. "Of course. We have more than one person working on creating these at a time, after all. Please, whoever wishes to go first, step up here."

"I'll give you the most trouble," Bucky said, walking onto the platform and standing where Stanley indicated. "Probably better get me out of the way, first."

"Nonsense, Mister Barnes," Stanley said, pulling a tape measure out of his pocket. "We have never met a man that was difficult to size." He stepped over to Bucky. "Hold out your arms, please."

Bucky did as he was instructed. "You take shoulder width measurements, right?"

"If it is necessary, yes, but the chest measurement generally dictates the width of the shirt and jacket," Stanley said as he wrapped the tape measure around Bucky's chest. "Do you require a special adjustment?" He pulled a small notepad and pen out of his shirt pocket and scribbled down Bucky's name, the word 'chest' and a number.

"My left shoulder is bigger than my right," Bucky said, dropping his arms when instructed. He wasn't terribly happy when Stanley looped the tape around his neck to take the measurement.

Stanley frowned a moment, and Bucky couldn't tell if it was in concentration, or in puzzlement. With the way realization dawned on his face a couple seconds later, Bucky laid money on the puzzlement. "The prosthetic?"

Bucky watched him write down another number. "If you wanna call it that, yeah. It's not exactly like most prosthetics."

"No," Stanley agreed, signaling for Bucky to hold out an arm again, taking his sleeve length measurement. "From what I have seen of the news, it most certainly is not. It's a marvel, is what it is." He scribbled down another number, then went around to Bucky's left side to measure that arm. "Your arms seem to be the same length, however." Another scribble in his notepad. "Stand up straight, shoulders square, arms down, please."

Bucky complied, and he felt the tape measure against the back of his right shoulder. He heard the pencil scratching on paper again.

"The difference is not as big as you might think," Stanley said. "But it will require a bit of customization."

Bucky made a noise of acknowledgement, then went quiet while Stanley took his waist and inseam measurements. Thankfully, Stanley was professional enough that Bucky didn't feel as uncomfortable about someone's hand that near to his crotch as he might've been otherwise.

Stanley made one last note, then flipped to a clean page on his notepad. "Thank you, Mister Barnes. Mister Rogers, your turn."

Without needing to discuss a special measurement, Steve's measuring went faster, with no talk. Once he was done, Stanley put his notepad and pencil away and rolled up the tape measure. "Thank you, gentlemen. The ball is on the nineteenth, you can expect the suits to be ready for final adjustments on the fifteenth. We will contact you when they come in, and fit for the fine details. They will be ready by the day before the ball."

"Cutting it a bit close, isn't it?" Bucky asked.

Stanley gave him an apologetic look. "It is, I'm afraid. But we have never failed to be on time, and we most certainly won't now. Rest assured, gentlemen, your suits will be on time and will fit perfectly."

"Thank you," Steve said. "Do we pay now, or when the suits are done?"

"When the suits are ready, sir," Stanley said. "We accept all major credit cards."

Bucky noticed something missing there. "What about cash?"

Stanley looked absolutely confused. "Cash? No, we don't keep any in store." He looked even more confused. "You are the first customers I've had to ask to pay in cash."

Steve sighed heavily, looking at Bucky. "I guess I take a trip to the bank to deposit some."

Bucky shrugged. "I'll come with. I need to get put on the account, anyway."

Steve and Bucky bid Stanley farewell and headed out, pausing outside of the store.

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. "We should probably deposit enough to pay for shoes, too, because if there's a place around here that sells shoes that nice, they probably don't take cash either. So we have to go back up and get more money to take to the bank."

"Hadn't considered that," Steve said. "All right, fine, we'll stop back at the apartment."

When they got back up to their apartment, Bucky pointed at Steve's laptop. "Check prices on shoes," he said. "I'll get our coats." Steve sat down at the table and grabbed his laptop. Bucky heard Steve typing, then that same deflating balloon sound that Steve had made earlier when pricing the suits. Bucky paused at the coat closet, hand halfway in to grab their coats. "That doesn't sound good."

"Uh. Well, we're taking at least another two thousand to the bank," Steve said with a strained voice. "With tax, anyway."

Bucky felt his heart stop. "How much- wait. JARVIS, please explain inflation again."

"With an inflation rate of one thousand, five hundred, and forty-four percent, a pair of shoes costing eight hundred and ninety dollars today would cost fifty-seven dollars and sixty-four cents, before tax," JARVIS said.

"Okay, better."

Steve went to their wall safe to count out the money for the deposit. The safe wasn't hidden in any way; the only way someone could get into their apartment to steal it was if JARVIS let them in, so why buy a potentially ugly picture that would be very obvious as the only one on the wall to hide something that didn't need hidden? It was still far more secure than the old shoebox in the back of a kitchen cupboard like what they had in DC.

While Steve did that, Bucky headed into his bedroom to grabbed his holster, hooking it on, then checked his gun, a basic Beretta M9, simple, powerful, preferred by the military, and tucked it in the holster at the small of his back. Bucky didn't go out in public without being armed, not with Hydra having poked its head out of its ferret hole recently. If the bank had a problem with it, tough. They'd change their tune if it'd been them that an international terrorist organization was after.

Once Bucky had rejoined him, Steve sighed, thumbing through the cash in his wallet, probably double-checking how much was in there. Bucky didn't know why he bothered, Steve carried perfect grades in math, growing up. "I'm not sure I feel safe on the streets of Manhattan, carrying about ten thousand dollars in cash on me."

Bucky pulled his coat on, and handed Steve his. "I doubt anyone's going to mess with us, Steve," he said. "Crooks go for the easier targets. We both look like we could bench press the average pickpocket."

"Not the point," Steve said. "That average pickpocket could have a gun."

"And we don't?" Bucky asked. "What, do you wanna bring your shield? Because that wouldn't make us walking targets or anything."

Steve frowned, pulling on his coat and tucking his wallet in an inner pocket. "No, I wasn't really thinking of our safety. I was worried about bystanders."

"Still not likely with as fast as we can move," Bucky said. "Stop complaining, let's go."

They had JARVIS lock up behind them.

They took a cab; the bank wasn't far enough to bother driving their own car, too cold to drive the bike, but far enough that walking with that much cash probably wasn't a good idea, despite Bucky's well thought out points. Besides, parking was an annoyance and they weren't going to be in the bank long, or at least Bucky hoped not.

Putting him on the account might take longer, though. He had no idea how modern day banks worked beyond basic deposit and withdrawals at the teller window. He hoped there wouldn't be much fuss, he hated dealing with paperwork.

The bank wasn't as crowded as it could've been. It was past the normal lunch hour, but before work got out, so while there were plenty of people there, the wait to get to the teller wasn't irritatingly long.

And mercifully, there were no little old ladies depositing rolls of pennies.

The deposit didn't take long, and adding Bucky's name to the account wasn't much longer, but it required his social security number, and it took him a minute to remember it. He'd been eighteen when that system got set up, and was nineteen by the time he was actually assigned a number. Other than when he enlisted, it hadn't been terribly important, and even that had been a long time ago.

"Well, we're a proper bickering married couple now," Bucky said upon leaving the bank. "You're lucky I like you, I wouldn't even share a bank account with a woman I was actually married to."

"Yes, dear, of course, dear, whatever you say, dear," Steve said, hailing a cab.

"You're helping so much," Bucky said.

A cab pulled over to pick them up, and a man that looked to be around their perceived age in a business suit tried to shove past them to take the cab. Bucky grabbed his shoulder pointedly with his mechanical hand. The man started to swear at him, but after he'd had a good look at Bucky, he backed away.

Bucky stared at the man with a dead-eyed look, letting Steve get into the cab first before joining him, not taking his eyes off the man until the door was shut. He wouldn't be surprised if the man had wet himself, and he found it kind of funny.

After giving the cabbie the address for Stark Tower, Steve studied Bucky. "You're a sadist," he said.

Bucky's intimidating demeanor instantly turned into a grin entirely too bright for him to deny the allegations seriously. "He had no manners. Maybe next time, he'll wait his turn."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You know, doing that won't help your reputation."

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah, I know, but he pissed me off. People in Manhattan are assholes."

"It's not just Manhattan that that happens in," Steve said. "And it's not as common as you might think. We just got lucky."

"You have a funny idea of 'lucky'," Bucky said.

"Says the man who took advantage of it to scare the shit out of a stranger."

Bucky almost said something, but was interrupted by the sound of their phone going off. He watched Steve pull out the phone from the same pocket he hid his wallet- no longer carrying enough cash to buy a cheap used car -and look at the caller ID.

"It's for you," Steve said, handing the phone over to Bucky.

Bucky took it, eyeing the ID. Ah. Sam. He clicked answer. "What've you got for me, Wilson?"

"You speak such sweet greetings," Sam said. "I got in touch with the guy in charge of the homeless programs at the VA there in Manhattan. He says come on in and kick up your feet, they'll take all the help they can get. I didn't know if you wanted hands on help or donations, so I wasn't able to give him much, so he didn't give me much, but his name is Josh Lewis. He's a former staff sergeant, so I think he outranks you."

Bucky scoffed. "Everyone outranks me, Sam. I've gotten used to it. My baby brother is a goddamn officer."

"What branch?" Sam asked without a hint of surprise, but with a good dose of amusement at Bucky's expense.

"Navy. He decided walking around on the ground was too good for him, he had to go float on the ocean."

Sam laughed. "Navy boys are a weird lot. You know where the VA there in Manhattan is, right?"

"Down on West Houston somewhere," Bucky said. "I'll look it up when I get home."

"I didn't realize you were out."

Bucky glanced at Steve. "You didn't catch me driving, at least. Steve won't let me drive. He thinks I'll break the steering wheel."

While Steve gave him one of those looks that he'd learned at the lap of his Catholic Irish mother that said 'you've done a bad thing', Sam made a noise that might've been a laugh, might've been distressed. "Well, the last time you had your hands on a steering wheel, you did break it."

Bucky took a few deep breaths, counting to five. It was all the farther he could make it. "Wilson, I apologized, shut up about it."

"Hey, whoa, easy," Sam said. "I was making a joke. It doesn't upset me, it shouldn't upset you. Anyway, when you get there, ask for Josh Lewis, tell them that I sent you. He's expecting you."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky said. "You wanna talk to Steve while you're on the phone?"

"Naw," Sam said. "Tell him I'll call after dinner, unless he's out with Sharon."

"I'm pretty sure not tonight," Bucky said. "If I'm wrong, you're stuck with my happy ass."

Sam laughed. "You are already the best friend ever. I'll call tonight after dinner. Talk to you weird old dudes. But I have some stuff I have to finish up here this afternoon before home and dinner become a real thing for me."

"You don't like offers for procrastination?"

"When I was in school, yes. The Army knocked that out of me. Surprised it hasn't you yet."

"I'm trying to relearn," Bucky said, looking over at Steve again. Steve was watching, apparently very interested in this conversation. "Steve is getting annoyed at me for it."

"According to Steve, you're good at that," Sam said.

Bucky laughed when Steve nodded his head in a long-suffering way. "He's confirming that. You go do your work, I have my own to do now. Someone will talk to you tonight."

"Talk to you later, man," Sam said, before hanging up.

Bucky handed the phone back to Steve. "You have interesting friends," he said.

"Sounds like he's your friend too," Steve said, tucking the phone away in his pocket. "You want me to look up that address now, give you money for the cab and you can just go right there?"

Bucky didn't feel terriblly confident about that. "Do you have enough for a round trip from the Tower? Counting for time in traffic? They don't charge by the mile, you know."

Steve frowned. "Didn't think of that." He pulled out his wallet and counted the money he'd kept for the cab, frowning deeper when he was done. "No, I guess I don't." He tucked away his wallet and looked at Bucky. "Looks like you're coming back up before going out again."

"I'll live," Bucky said. "Might even get there in time to see Tony doing something else magnificently weird."

Steve sighed, paying the driver as they pulled up to the front of Stark Tower. "If he hangs Star Spangled garland on the walls, he's officially a dead man."

Bucky laughed, joining Steve in front of the building once they were out and the cab had driven away. "You know, he wouldn't pick on you if you didn't give him such fun reactions."

"The hell he wouldn't," Steve said, heading inside. "He picks on Bruce and Bruce takes him in stride. Tony's just an asshole."

"Yeah, but you like him," Bucky said, following Steve to the elevators.

Steve gave him an aggravated look. "I have this thing about making friends with people like him."

Bucky made a point of acting oblivious. "Your taste in friends obviously went downhill after I died. Did you get desperate?"

Instead of looking annoyed, Steve's expression softened into a smile. "The modern day didn't have as good of an option as you were. Had to make do."

Bucky didn't say anything, looking over when the elevator dinged and a sea of people swarmed out. He stayed quiet as the elevator took them up, people getting off at different floors. They were the only ones that remained by the time they got to their floor. "And then you shared your 'make do' options when I came back. I'm not sure if I should thank you or hit you for it."

The elevator dinged. "Thank me. You'd be in trouble without our friends."

Bucky had just enough time to make a 'meh' noise before the doors opened, revealing Sharon, in her heavy winter coat, standing on the other side.

"Going down?" Steve asked, stepping off the elevator and off to the side to give her room.

Bucky refrained from pointing out just how dirty that sounded. Steve was far from an innocent, but his brain only took trips into the gutter, whereas Bucky's had set up permanent residence.

Sharon might've noticed the slip, might not have, but if she did, she didn't show it. "No, here to scold you two."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Steve. "What'd we do this time?"

"Taking over ten thousand dollars to the bank without any form of security or even awareness to your surroundings?" she said. "The guy on shift said it wouldn't have taken much to take a hit on you, you two acted like there wasn't a care in the world."

Steve sighed. "Sharon, this is not the first time we've gone to the bank with a lot of money. We're more aware of our surroundings than we look sometimes. Besides, we knew one of your crew was around, even if Bucky didn't keep himself armed at all times."

"I suspect that throwing ourselves into the stockade has made her paranoid and cross with us, Steve," Bucky said, acting like he wasn't stating the obvious.

"I couldn't tell," Steve said, then returned his focus to his girlfriend-slash-protector. "Sharon, relax. We know things can be dangerous. But we have to go out some time. We needed to go to the bank. We knew we had someone watching our back."

Sharon frowned, looking like she was internally arguing between her protective and paranoid streak, and Steve's logic. Before Steve could tell her to relax again, she sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right." She rubbed her forehead with one hand. "This job got more stressful than it had been before."

Steve put an arm around her shoulders, steering her down the hall and away from in front of the elevator. Bucky followed on Sharon's other side. "I know, and we're sorry for that. But at least you don't have to try to hide from us at the same time. You live close by, and I'm not going to be surprised this time when you come banging into the apartment and saying you were assigned to protect me."

She gave him a dirty look that didn't look terribly sincere. "I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night. That's a weak excuse, I know."

"We all have off days," Bucky said. "If you want something to do, you can stay with Steve while I'm out."

Sharon whipped her head around to stare at Bucky as they stopped outside of Steve and Bucky's door. "Where are you going?"

"To the VA," Bucky said. "I've picked up my personal charity crusade. Steve's got his kids' hospitals, Tony's got animals now, and I needed something to do with my time."

Sharon was quiet a moment, clearly deep in thought. She pointed at Steve. "You stay in this building. JARVIS, keep an eye on him." She turned to Bucky. "I'm coming with you. You are not going out alone, not now, not while there is still a high chance that you will be targeted for your past." She held up a firm hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "Don't argue with me. This is my job, and you're not stopping me from doing it, or I'll get Steve to help me tie you down for the rest of the Christmas season."

Bucky stared at her. No, she was not- she was. And she'd win, because Steve would help her, and logic was on her side. He could handle pretty much anything people wanted to throw at him, but Hydra was out there, and they still had more resources than he cared for them to have. He may have been their greatest weapon, but that didn't mean they couldn't pile up the not-as-greatest weapons to take him in one shot. And it wouldn't be pretty.

Not that a regular CIA agent with a regular service pistol was going to be much help, but having an extra set of eyes would probably be nice.

He gave her a look of death, took a deep breath. "Fine. But you're not going to try to follow me in a cab. If you're going to be a shadow, you're keeping me company."

"Acceptable compromise," Sharon said. "We'll take my car."

Bucky looked at Steve. "You find the most annoying women."

Steve chuckled. "They're related, it ran in the family."

That was like hitting his head on a wall. It was something he probably should've seen sooner, but he hadn't had reason to make the connection. "Wait." He looked at Sharon. "That aunt you take after."

Sharon looked far too amused. "My Aunt Peggy. That's why Director Fury trusted me with Steve's protection. He knew it was in the genes."

Bucky gave Steve a betrayed look. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Steve shrugged. "I didn't realize you didn't know. You didn't think having two Agent Carters in my life was a coincidence, did you?"

Bucky frowned. "Carter's not exactly an uncommon name," he said.

Sharon smiled, looping her arm around Bucky's. "Come on, soldier. You can tell me about my aunt. Steve feels weird talking about her with me. Ex-girlfriends, you know how he is."

She certainly had a winning personality, Bucky had to admit that. Overtired and paranoid right then, maybe, but charming. He looked at Steve, who merely stepped back and motioned for them to leave. He obviously had no problem with Sharon's fake flirting with Bucky. If it were anyone other than Steve, involving anyone other than Bucky, Bucky would think that Steve was being too damn trusting.

Bucky looked at Sharon. "Just as long as you don't make me feel ancient talking about the old days."

"Deal." She waved to Steve. "I'll bring him back, safe and sound," she promised.

"Just don't go looking for trouble," Steve said.

"I can't say that I don't, I asked for this assignment, but I won't this time, cross my heart," she said, then steered Bucky back towards the elevators. She kept her arm hooked around his, even as they stepped back to wait for the elevator after hitting the button. "I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?" she asked.

He looked down at her. "If you weren't who you were, you would," he said. "But if you've got Peggy's loyalty in you, I'm not worried about Steve getting played."

"Did Aunt Peggy ever flirt with anyone but him?"

Bucky laughed. "No, she had eyes only for him. She'd pick on me sometimes, to an outsider it might've look like flirting, but no, she outright stonewalled me when I first met her, she was so focused on Steve. I'm not sure she even realized I was there."

"Bucky Barnes, the ladies' man, completely ignored," she said. "If it were anyone but my aunt and anyone but Steve, I'd be surprised."

He gave her a suspicious look. "Why?"

The elevator dinged, and they stepped in, Sharon letting go of his arm. "Don't be worried, I'm not hitting on you. I'm observing your character traits. You're a handsome man, and you're kind and deeply loyal. I think most women would fall for that. Steve got to me first, but that doesn't mean there aren't other women out there who'd have the same assessment."

He chuckled. "The first time a woman's said something like that to me and she's already taken," he said. "That's kinda how my luck's gone since the Howling Commandos."

"You haven't been trying much since then," she said.

"Fair enough." He was quiet for a few seconds, wishing that elevators still played music. It would've filled the silence. "Do you know where the VA is?"

"Not off-hand," she said. "But I have my phone. Google maps to the rescue."

He smiled and shook his head once. "Still sometimes amazed by what the twentieth century managed to do despite my interference."

"That wasn't your interference," she said, and he could feel her looking at him to the point that he finally had to look back. "That was Hydra's. Those were not your chosen actions. I would not be protecting you with my life if I thought you were at all the man that did those. I would be helping Steve get you to the point where you weren't."

"You know, a lot of people put too much faith in me."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But we haven't been disappointed."

He studied her, but any thought that might've turned into voice was interrupted as the elevator let them off in the garage.

"This way," she said, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "And before you ask, I was ready to go out to find you two. I wasn't walking around the living quarters floor in my coat with my car keys for the fun of it."

"You are even more paranoid than I am sometimes," he said, following her to her car. "That's kinda sad."

She smiled, turning her head to look at him. "I watch after you and Steve. You've given me reason to be."

"I'd protest, but you're not wrong," Bucky said.

She just gave him another smile, and they continued through the garage to her car.


	4. The Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why homeless vets? There are other services the VA offers, of all of them, why that? Personal reasons, or just a random grab?"
> 
> "Because I was homeless for awhile."

Bucky honestly expected Sharon to pepper him with questions on the way to the VA. She knew they were going, and that it had to do with charity of some form, but that's all that had been said to her. But she remained silent, navigating traffic through downtown Manhattan, to the VA office on the south end of the island.

"You're not going to ask why the VA?" he finally asked when they were a few streets away according to her GPS.

A faint smile graced her lips. "I'll find out when we get there, won't I?" she said.

"Assuming I let you follow me to Sergeant Lewis's office to discuss this."

She briefly glanced at him, mostly keeping her eyes on the road. "If you don't, then I'll ask. I'm used to having to wait and find out what's going on, I'm a government spook."

"At least you have a good sense of humor about it."

That smile grew bigger. "When you're in the service, you have to, or you might go insane. I doubt you soldiers didn't have similar coping techniques."

Bucky couldn't deny that. "So how long were you waiting to find out when I showed up?"

Her smile turned into a frown that he had a feeling wasn't very heartfelt. "A year and a half, Barnes," she said. "You already knew that."

"Didn't Steve warn you that I'm an asshole?" he asked, wanting to laugh at that scowl.

"He might've said a thing or two," she admitted. She turned one more street, then pulled into a parking lot next to a large, rather nice building with a sign in front proclaiming it to be the Veteran's Affairs office.

Bucky had to admit, Sharon was good at her job. She was keeping a careful eye on things without looking like she was being any more cautious than minimally necessary for a woman to get from her car to the building in the middle of the afternoon when she was accompanied by a guy that looked suitably strong to protect her from assholes. To someone like him, trained to watch for people watching for him, she was painfully obvious, but most people wouldn't notice just how attentive to her surroundings she actually was. He had to mentally applaud her.

He held the door open for her, which made her hesitate a fraction of a second, but she stepped in, watching him over her shoulder, but only out of her peripheral vision. It otherwise looked like she was just looking around the entrance way of the building.

Once he was in, she fell into place next to him, her hand resting on her purse, looking no different than any other woman with a purse that fell down that low on her torso, but Bucky had a sneaky suspicion that her gun was in there. If it wasn't in the purse, it was on her body somewhere close.

He'd accuse her of paranoia, but she was a CIA agent with a difficult protection detail. If she wasn't paranoid, she wasn't doing her job right.

He also declined to let her know that he was also armed and would move faster than she could if trouble started. It'd be nice to have back up if things got that ugly, anyway.

They walked over to the reception desk. The woman behind the counter studied them. "How can I help you folks?"

"I'm looking for Sergeant Josh Lewis," Bucky said. "He's expecting me."

She eyed him over his glasses, like she was trying to place where she knew his face. "And you are?"

"Sergeant James Barnes," he said.

She no longer looked like she was trying to place his face. She looked mostly surprised, but he wasn't sure if what else he saw was fear or just the awe someone normally got in the presence of a celebrity. "Yes, Sergeant Wilson told us you were coming. Sergeant Lewis's office is down that hallway and to the left. It's marked, you can't miss it."

"Thank you," Bucky said, then turned, waiting for Sharon to fall in step beside him, and headed down the hallway the receptionist had directed them down. They took the left turn, and finally found a door that had the words 'Veteran Homelessness Initiative' on the glass. Bucky knocked on the door, then opened it and peeked in. It wasn't an office inside, not like a single room with a desk sort of office. There were computer stations lining one wall, with some men that looked like they'd seen better days at a few of them. There were some tables, and there were two men at one of them, both hunched over what Bucky guessed were paper applications for benefits of some sort.

The men all looked over when Bucky and Sharon entered, seemingly sizing them up, then dismissed them and went back to their work.

There was a desk near the far wall, with a man that looked like he was a few years older than Bucky would be if he were actually his biological age, instead of being a billion calendar years old. The man raised an eyebrow in their direction, head tilted slightly like he was trying to decide what to make of a decently dressed man accompanied by a well-dressed woman in an office dedicated to resources for homeless vets.

When Bucky made a point of yanking off his left glove before walking over, exposing his metal hand, the curiosity on the man's face disappeared, and Bucky guessed that either the man was Sergeant Lewis, or Sergeant Lewis had informed other office staff that Bucky was on his way.

"I would ask if you're James Barnes," the man said as Bucky and Sharon approached his desk. "But I suspect that would be a dumb question."

"It'd be one with an obvious answer, anyway," Bucky said, taking off his other glove and sticking them both in his coat pockets. "Are you Sergeant Lewis?"

"If I don't call you 'Sergeant Barnes', will you promise to not call me 'Sergeant Lewis'?" the man asked. "I'm retired, I am 'sergeant' nothing."

Bucky smiled. "Good, we're talking sense. What do you want me to call you?"

"Josh is fine," Josh said. "And what can I call you? You've got a few names floating around."

Bucky was really getting tired of being asked what he wanted to be called, but every time it was asked, it was kind of necessary, so he grit his teeth and went with it. "James is fine," he said. "Call me any variant of 'Jim' and you might find yourself in trouble."

Josh laughed, standing and holding out his hand to Bucky. "You got it, James." Once Bucky had taken Josh's hand and given it a shake, Josh held out his hand to Sharon. "And who's the pretty lady?"

Sharon took his hand. "Sharon Carter. I'm a friend. I was just the cab driver today." She looked at Bucky. "His roommate pays me for my services."

That almost made Bucky laugh. "I'll just bet," he said.

Josh grinned, then motioned to one of the empty tables. "Come on, let's go where we can all take a load off."

They followed Josh to the table, taking seats across from him. Bucky noticed Sharon giving the room a regular sweep with her gaze, assessing possible threats from the vets in the office. She seemed satisfied that the threat level was minimal.

"So Wilson said that you're interested in helping out with our programs for homeless vets," Josh said once they were seated.

"I'm not sure where I'd start, but yes," Bucky said. "I could throw money at you guys, if that's all you need, but I wouldn't mind something more hands on."

Josh chuckled. "Well, we can always use more money, I won't deny that," he said. "Are you looking into helping around here, helping vets sign up for these programs? That'd be most direct, but we're not hurting for help in that area for the most part. There's also the programs themselves, matching vets up with what they qualify for, scheduling them appointments with doctors, psychiatrists, securing housing for them, that kind of thing."

Bucky considered that for a moment. "Are you sure you want me calling around on behalf of all these guys who need help? I don't have a problem working with them or for them, but I don't want to be the one responsible for getting any doors slammed in their faces."

"Think people will hear 'Winter Soldier' instead of 'James Barnes'?" Josh asked.

Bucky shrugged. "More like they'll hear 'Hydra'. I've got a decent rep under the name 'Winter Soldier' as Captain America's partner in crime. It's the part before that that sometimes attracts trouble."

Josh nodded, clearly thinking about that. "Good point. So, working with them directly might be better. These guys get it, they've been out in the field, bad shit happens. You're less likely to get trouble from them than you are from the public."

"Doesn't the VA work with any emergency shelters?" Bucky asked. "Those places require staff. If nothing else, I'd be good on security detail."

Josh sat back with a thoughtful noise. "There's a few emergency shelters around, places that provide meals, especially around this time. Most places here in Manhattan are focused on families, more than anyone else. There's one that's dedicated to vets though. Cohen Mercy Mission. We work with them a lot. I could certainly refer you to them. I doubt they'd turn down the help for security. Most homeless people, including vets, aren't very rambunctious in the shelters. They're more interested in getting food, getting sleep, and staying warm. But there's a big problem with alcoholism among the homeless, and vets are no different. And they tend to be better fighters and cause more problems than the average guy on the streets when they're half a bottle in."

"Can you put me in touch with them?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, just a second," Josh said, getting back up. He walked over to a table against the wall next to the computers, and grabbed a couple brochures from one of a few piles, and then took them back over to the table. "Here." He set one of the brochures down in front of Bucky. "Their address is in there. They have an application for volunteers, mostly to keep out the trouble makers or people too lazy to actually show up and help. Just tell them you were referred to them by the VA, fill out the application, you should be working within a week."

Bucky studied the brochure, reading about the shelter. It had a hundred and thirty-six beds that were filled every night. They provided dinner and breakfast, and had a shower. It wasn't glamorous, there weren't individual bedrooms or private bathrooms, but they were clean, and the food was held up to Health Department code, temperatures checked and expiration dates followed. For being an emergency shelter, it didn't sound too bad.

He looked up at Josh. "Do they get regular donations from you guys, or just referrals?"

Josh snorted. "If we had the money to donate to other groups, we wouldn't need other groups," he said. "They send us a lot of vets, help the guys get cleaned up, give them our address. We send people down there week day mornings to talk to the guys, tell them about our programs, hand out brochures with our information. We also give them information on the VSU. The VSU has the same programs, with advocates that work with us. We like to direct the guys from emergency shelters to the short-term shelter that the VSU has in Brooklyn, and they help the vets get from there to long-term housing through HUD-VASH."

Sharon finally spoke up. "What do those abbreviations mean?"

Josh looked over at her. "VSU means 'Veteran Service Unit', it's the brain child of the VA and the city's vet services group. 'HUD-VASH' stands for Department of Housing and Urban Development's Veterans Affairs Supportive Housing. Much easier to just say HUD-VASH."

"Hell of a mouthful," Sharon said.

Josh chuckled. "It's government, and we're military. If we didn't use abbreviations for everything, we'd be talking all day and never get anything done."

"Fair enough," she said. Bucky gave her a sideways look- she was CIA, she had no room to talk about abbreviations. There was probably an abbreviation for her mission to protect him and Steve.

Josh slid the other brochure he'd picked up over to Bucky. "This group's called Robin Hood. They're not an emergency shelter, and they don't have any short term housing or anything. They're more like us. They have programs and advocates that hook vets up with housing, medical care, employment training and opportunities. They work with us to supplement what we have, since we don't have nearly enough on our own to help everyone. Between us and them, it's still not enough. There's over two thousand vets a night out there just in New York. Country-wide, it's a lot worse. That doesn't include those at risk of being homeless that need our support, too."

Bucky frowned, studying the Robin Hood brochure. "Yeah, I've read some of those statistics. Some were higher than that, I think one was lower."

"It's hard to get exact numbers," Josh said. "Homeless people are pretty transient, and most of our best guesses have to come from how many beds are filled up in emergency shelters by vets and how many actually use our services. And some refuse to."

"Why?" Sharon asked. "They can't possibly like it out on the streets."

Josh's forehead knit together slightly in a frown that Bucky guessed meant he was trying to figure out the best explanation. "A lot of those guys have mental illnesses, or addiction problems. When your brain's rebelling against you, it's hard to take the logical way out. 'The few, the proud.' Proud enough to not be able to admit they need help with an invisible injury like PTSD. And it's not just vets that have trouble with that. Too much stigma around mental illness, still. We'll get there, but in the meantime, we need to keep our hands reached out to them."

"It's gotten better since my day," Bucky said a bit off-handedly, making a point of still looking over the brochures he'd been handed. "We still had strait jackets and lobotomies were starting to be popular."

"Took awhile to get past that," Josh said. "That was still in the public view a lot when the Vietnam boys came home. Most of the homeless vets out there are from 'Nam, although the Afghanistan and Iraqi war vets are starting to leave a big footprint."

"Those were all pretty brutal wars from what I've heard," Bucky said. "Especially Vietnam."

"Any war is brutal," Josh said. "But yeah, there's been easier ones to fight than those. I dunno how your war compares. Most vets from your era have passed away by this time."

That made Bucky's mind go temporarily numb and a weight settled on his chest. His generation was almost all gone. Wouldn't be long before only he and Steve remained, only they would remember what the European battlefields were like, what it was like down in those foxholes. History was leaving them behind.

He shook his head, making a faint noise that was supposed to be a derisive laugh. "It wasn't exactly a walk through the park," he said. "But I wasn't around for the others, so I can't compare."

Josh looked like he wanted to ask questions, but refrained, which Bucky was grateful for. Some things just didn't get asked about.

Bucky asked a few more questions, but most of what he needed to know at that point, he'd find out at the shelter. Once satisfied that Bucky knew as much as he'd get from Josh, and having gotten the number to talk to him directly if more questions came up, Bucky and Sharon bid goodbye to Josh and left the VA.

They'd traveled a few blocks before either spoke up, and Bucky wasn't inclined to be the first one to do it. He had things on his mind.

Sharon, on the other hand, decided she had to give voice to what was on _her_ mind. "I have a feeling if I don't ask this question, I'm not going to find out any other way, and my curiosity is getting to me. If you care not to answer, that's fine."

"What?"

"Why homeless vets? There are other services the VA offers, of all of them, why that? Personal reasons, or just a random grab?"

Bucky didn't answer at first, glancing at her, then back out his window. "Because I was homeless for awhile."

There was a pause, and Bucky looked over at her to see confusion and surprise mingling on her face. "When was this? Steve said your family did okay during the Depression."

He made a rude noise. "Wasn't during the Depression," he said. "After the helicarriers went down, before I decided to give everyone around me a heart attack by sneaking into Steve's apartment, I didn't have anywhere to go. It was only a month, but it's not exactly a lot of fun."

Sharon didn't say anything, but made a noise that sounded like a sympathetic agreement, the kind that can only come from someone who can guess, but not know, what an experience was like. He'd heard that off and on over the last year and some odd months from Steve on the odd occasion he'd managed to pry something specific out of Bucky. Steve had gotten good at getting Bucky to talk about things bothering him, but very few details had come up between them, and Bucky preferred it that way. 

When nothing else was forthcoming, Bucky decided it was his turn to ask a question. "You're going to tell Steve, aren't you?"

"Should I not?" she asked, and Bucky had a feeling that if he said 'no', she'd honor that and not tell Steve.

But honestly, it didn't matter that much. It'd just never come up. "I don't care," he said, watching out the windshield.

After a few seconds in which Sharon fought through some particularly bad traffic, she said "I think it'd be best if you told him."

"It hasn't come up in almost two years, why would it now?"

"For the same reason it came up with me?" she asked. "If I wondered why that particular crusade, why wouldn't he?"

Bucky frowned, just a subtle creasing of his forehead. "He asked if I'd known someone. I didn't precisely count myself as knowing someone."

"So in other words, you avoided telling him." Sharon spared a glance at him. "Why tell me, then?"

Bucky wasn't actually sure. "You asked differently."

"In other words, you didn't volunteer information. Is that military conditioning, Hydra conditioning, or just the way you are?"

If it wasn't for the fact that he was growing fond of her, and that Steve was even more fond of her, Bucky might be tempted to sour relations completely with a jackass reply. "Mostly Hydra," he said. "Volunteer anything not strictly related to the mission... well, it ends badly."

"The mindwipes?"

He forgot she'd read the file, and he wasn't sure if he was upset that she'd known, or relieved that he didn't have to explain it. "They weren't pleasant."

She smiled. "I have a feeling that's an understatement."

He couldn't help an amused smile. "You caught that?"

"It was hard to miss." She hit her breaks, coming to an abrupt stop behind a taxi that had decided to not pull over to the curb to let its passengers off. "I think you should tell him."

"Why? And how? That's not exactly good dinner conversation. 'Oh, by the way, while you were looking for me, I was homeless in the streets. Just thought you should know.'"

She laughed. "I never said tell him that way. That's just looking to purposely upset him."

Bucky sighed. "The subject's going to upset him no matter how it comes up. He tends to not take it very well whenever these things come up. He tries not to show it, but I can tell. He's a terrible liar, and even when he's able to spit out the right words, I know him too well." He paused, thinking. "It's in his eyes. You can see how it hurts him. And I hate seeing that look, so I don't bring it up."

"Which also upsets him," she pointed out as the cab moved and she was able to continue down the streets. "At least when he's told what's wrong, he can try to figure out how to make it hurt less."

Bucky slouched in his seat slightly. "Now you're sounding like Pepper," he said, sounding grumpier than he actually was.

"It's basic human psychology, Bucky," she said. "Talking to friends helps ease how hard it is to carry, and it helps your friends hurt less, because they feel they're doing something to help you. Talk to him. I don't know what to tell you about how to bring it up, but if nothing else, if he asks again, tell him the truth. Don't skirt by on a technicality."

He tapped a metal finger on his leg, a bit of a nervous habit. He usually tapped it on the table or another convenient surface, but with the door on his right and the gear stick on his left and Sharon needing unfettered access to said gear stick, he was stuck with his thigh. He also quickly realized how annoying that habit was. "If it comes up."

Sharon didn't say anything in response, pulling into the underground garage where Stark Tower employees and residents parked, driving through the turns to her reserved spot. Once she'd parked and turned off the car, she looked at him. "Do you want me to tell him? You seem a bit agitated by the idea of doing it yourself."

He stared at her. "What do you mean?"

She motioned to his hand. "Steve's told me that when you get nervous, you do that."

Bucky occupied his hand with unbuckling, sending it a mental glare of betrayal. "Why did he tell you that? Don't you two have better things to talk about than me?"

"I'm the one that asked," she said, unlocking the doors for them to get out. "You're important to Steve. I know as well as anyone that you two are a package deal; if I can't accept you and all your quirks, then Steve's going to give our relationship the boot. And I'd like to be your friend. So yes, I've asked about things to watch for to read you better so I don't go stepping on toes."

He gave her a frustrated look for one point seven seconds, then got out of the car. "You spy types frustrate me," he said once she was out and could hear him clearly.

She clicked 'lock' on her key fob, then moved around the car to join him and looped her arm around his again, unmindful of the fact that it was his left arm that she'd chosen to cozy up to. "This wasn't a spy mission," she said. "This was a person wanting to make a friend and finding out the best way to do it."

Bucky studied her, hitting the button on the elevator, debating how to answer. He used to be friends with a lot of people, back before Hydra, and sometimes he felt on shaky ground trying to make friends now that he was away from Hydra, but if he could become good enough friends with Tony Stark to get Tony to seemingly set aside a grudge for him, then he wasn't too rusty at the art of human interaction. "Has Steve invited you over for dinner yet?"

Sharon looked taken off-guard by that question. "Not yet, no. Why?"

"Then as your friend, I'm inviting you over for dinner tonight, if you're not busy. And I'm cooking. Knowing him, he'll try to impress you with one of his mother's recipes, and the Irish's idea of cooking is mixing mushy apples with mushy potatoes."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "That sounds awful."

He smiled. "It's not as bad as it sounds, but in the name of saving you for awhile longer from his bonny lad side, I'll cook. You'll get subjected to it sooner or later."

"I'll have to do some research, find a recipe that doesn't sound appalling, then try to subtly steer him towards that rather than something more creative."

"Subtly? All you'll have to do is bat your pretty brown eyes at him."

She laughed, all but dragging him into the elevator when it dinged and the doors opened. "Okay, maybe not so subtle."

"Subtle isn't always Steve's strong suit," Bucky said. "He can be when the situation calls for it, but when it comes to personal relationships, he's about as subtle as a hand grenade in a barrel of oatmeal."

She stared at him. "That's an oddly farm country saying for a Brooklyn boy."

He grinned. "I was quoting Warner Brothers. I've been catching up on a few decades of pop culture."

For a second, Sharon's expression didn't change, then a light bulb clicked on. "Oh, Foghorn Leghorn?"

"Do people still watch those cartoons?" he asked. "I thought Bugs Bunny had gone out of style in the last decade."

She shrugged. "I don't watch a lot of TV these days, too much work. But at least when I was a kid, they were still all on TV. I grew up on him."

"At least there's one more generation that has good taste," he said. "I know I'm showing my age, but some of the stuff on for kids now is garbage."

She patted his arm, which he only knew about because he happened to be looking at her when she did. "Don't worry, that doesn't make you sound any older than me."

Bucky glanced up at the numbers ticking by on the elevator. He found it odd that it hadn't stopped on another floor between the garage and their floor yet. He had a sneaky suspicion that JARVIS might've had something to do with that. "Oh good, then I'm not completely out of touch. Although speaking of sounding old, how many of the old silver screen movies have you seen?"

"A few. Aunt Peggy would always let me know when one of her favorites was playing on one of the classic movies channels. Why?"

He had to mentally set aside her use of the word 'aunt' with Peggy's name; sometimes it still kicked him in the gut, the strange time lapse, having known Peggy as a woman far too young to have a niece Sharon's age. "Ever see Arsenic and Old Lace?"

Sharon tilted her head, blinking a couple times before shaking her head. "I don't think so. Who stars in it?"

"Cary Grant," Bucky said. "It came out in '44. My brother told me I have to watch it. I saw it once, but we were in Europe at the time, and I was tired, so I slept through about half of it and don't really remember much, except that one of the characters thought he was Teddy Roosevelt."

That made her burst into laughter. "It sounds like my sort of movie. I like Cary Grant, he's a good actor."

"Good. I'll have JARVIS queue it up for after dinner, then. I don't think Steve approved of my idea of making it date night, maybe he'll be more open to watching it with you around."

Sharon smiled, a wide and dazzling grin that made him see how closely related she was to Peggy. "So how old is that joke?"

"Way too old," Bucky said. "And I doubt it'll stop just because you two are dating now."

She shifted her weight against him in a nudge. "I don't mind being the other woman."

"Oh, good, you already fit in, then."

"I like hearing that."


	5. Arsenic And Old Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You looked fine today, just wear that. If you want to change, you don't have to get any more dressed up than that."
> 
> "I suppose I should probably ditch the fuzzy slippers though, huh?"
> 
> "I think you might shock Steve with that much modernism if you didn't."

"Honey, I'm home!" Bucky called into the apartment as he stepped through the door, JARVIS closing and locking it behind him.

Steve glanced up from where he was reading on one of the couches. "So how much nonsense did you tell my new girlfriend about me?" he asked.

Bucky hung up his coat. "Just that she's the other woman in this household. And that she's coming over for dinner and a movie tonight, so you're going to want to clean up, and you are absolutely _not_ cooking dinner tonight. Don't scare her off with your Irish mother's recipes."

Steve stared at him, his book apparently forgotten in one hand, half-turned on the couch that faced away from the front door, and gave him a couple confused blinks before everything processed. "You asked _my_ girlfriend on a chaperoned date for me?" He sounded more boggled than anything.

Bucky pulled his boots off and tucked them into the closet. "No, I invited my little brother's girlfriend to have dinner with us and meet the family. Be glad there's not more of us around to make her feel uncomfortable."

"You know, putting it like that makes me almost glad that I never had a girl to take home to meet my mother. I'd feel guilty doing that to anyone I was interested in."

Bucky grinned, then frowned in irritation as he walked across the carpet with his socks on. Annoying. "Your mother was something special, that's for sure."

"Irish Catholic. The only kind of mother who is better at guilting their kids are Jewish mothers." Steve slipped a bookmark into his book and set it on the coffee table. "So what movie, and since you're obviously going to avoid Mom's recipes, what are we having?"

"I have no goddamn idea what I'm cooking yet," Bucky said, staring at the fridge from in the living room. "But we're watching Arsenic And Old Lace. Because you know when Peter gets here for Christmas, he's going to hit me if I haven't watched it yet."

"That's that Cary Grant movie he told us about, right?"

"That's the one," Bucky said. He gave up on the fridge for the moment and sat down on the couch next to Steve and picked up his tablet off the table. "Do you know what kind of food she likes?"

"I know she doesn't like Mexican, but that's all I know," Steve said. "Why didn't you ask her when you invited her over?"

"Because I'm dumb," Bucky said, staring at his tablet's browser, hoping inspiration for a recipe to look up would come to him if he just waited long enough. He got up, carrying his tablet with him, and went to the kitchen to search the fridge and the cupboards. He sighed in frustration, nothing catching his eye. "All of our meat is frozen," he said. "Which means unless we want to go vegetarian tonight, I'm going to have to send you to the grocery store." He looked back at Steve. "Where's the nearest one again?"

Steve's brow furrowed in concentration. "Morton Williams, I think is the name," he said. "It's about, well, maybe a ten minute walk from here?"

Bucky made a noise of acknowledgement, but barely, and started scrolling through recipe sites on his tablet. He had a few regular ones bookmarked, a couple individual recipes he'd seen and wanted to try someday. Steve would probably pick on him for how many cooking-related sites he had bookmarked if he ever saw, but too bad. Bucky liked cooking, and now he didn't feel guilty for making too much, because they had to eat more to keep up with their accelerated metabolisms.

"Oh, hey, I could make this," he said, loading a bookmark and handing his tablet over to Steve.

Steve took the tablet and studied it. "Chicken Kiev?" One of his eyebrows shot up, reading the ingredients. "Six tablespoons of butter? That's a lot of butter."

Bucky motioned at the tablet with his hand. "Look at how much it covers, though. That's not that much. And we have enough, I just bought a bunch of stick butter for making cookies for Christmas." Steve gave him a wordless look over the top of the tablet. "Shut up, you know I like working in the kitchen. Women shouldn't get all the fun."

Steve shook his head and went back to the tablet. "I'd have to get some chicken, your said ours is all frozen." He frowned. "Do we have panko crumbs?"

"No, you'll have to pick that up, too. The only thing I don't know about is that the prep calls for a mortar and pestle, and I'm not sure a regular grocery store is going to carry one."

Steve rolled his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "No, probably not. JARVIS, where's the nearest place we could get one of those?"

"There is a novelty store on floor five, Captain," JARVIS said. "Though I could not say how effective it would be for long term cooking."

"It'll work for one meal," Bucky said. "Apparently, I'm going to have to invest in a good one eventually anyway."

Steve handed Bucky's tablet back to him. "You should've gone to culinary school instead of the military."

Bucky took the tablet, looking over the instructions with a bit of distraction by Steve's words. "I figured they'd draft my dumb ass eventually anyway, might as well choose when I went in so I could get out quicker. At this point, I'm better staying in the merc business and just making you make more friends to invite over for me to cook for."

" _We_ have plenty of friends here to invite over," Steve said. "I doubt Tony would turn down the chance to get pampered and have someone cook for him. Especially if you make it a party."

"Maybe for Christmas," Bucky said. "Okay, go get the chicken and panko. And that mortar and pestle." He paused, something else occurring to him. "It's December. I get my snack cakes and so help me, if you say a word about it, I am stuffing your head into a bag of Doritos."

Steve held up his hands in surrender. "It's December, you know that's all I ask." He counted off on his fingers. "Chicken breasts-"

"Boneless and skinless," Bucky interrupted.

Steve gave him an impatient look. "-panko bread crumbs, and those cakes. And the mortar and pestle. Anything else, dear?"

Bucky laughed. "Call Sam, tell him you're busy after dinner tonight. And be quick with all this, it takes about an hour and a half to make this, it's already four-thirty. I don't want her waiting until seven or later to eat."

"Just make sure she knows when to come over," Steve said, heading out of the kitchen to go pull on shoes and a coat.

Bucky watched him go. "Relax, I'll call her. Just get the stuff I need to welcome her to the family."

Steve shot him a grin that Bucky hadn't seen as much recently as he had before Hydra took over their lives. It'd shown up, but not as often. For the moment, Steve was genuinely happy, without a care in the world.

Bucky smiled, kept smiling after Steve had left. Steve deserved that happiness. Heaven knew that he'd spent a lot of his life fighting to get to where he could be. It was nice to see his best friend finally in that place.

And Sharon was part of that and speaking of Sharon, Bucky needed to call her. He walked into the living room, standing between the coffee table and the large screen, the width of which nearly eclipsed the window panel behind it. The screen was more meant to be a TV, but it could double as a screen for either Steve's laptop, or Bucky's tablet, and JARVIS could use it as a telepresence system. It was mostly done with the Avengers in mind, most of them had their own personal cell phones for regular calls, but it didn't hurt to have it capable of outside communication.

This time, however, Bucky was interested in the internal system. "JARVIS, can you call Sharon for me?"

"Of course, Mister Barnes," JARVIS said, and Bucky had to grit his teeth again. He'd have to talk to Tony about making JARVIS stop calling him that.

After a few seconds, Sharon appeared on the screen. "Don't tell me you're already breaking a date with me," she said, a teasing smile on her face.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what time that date is for?"

She stared at him a moment, then tilted her head back just slightly. "And thus, the reason for the call. Don't feel bad, I forgot to find out a time. So, our strange little family meal is still on?"

"Be here at six," he said. "Dinner won't be ready for a little after that, but if you want time to talk to Steve without me hanging over your shoulders like an unwanted chaperone, you might want to come early."

She had that same smile that Steve had as he'd left. Bucky really hoped he would get to see that smile on their faces more often. "I'd hardly call you unwanted. If we wanted alone time, we'd go out on our own. This isn't a date, it's friends. At least as long as you two are willing to keep me around."

"As long as you don't pee on the carpets, you're good," Bucky said. "And I'm going to be completely crass, but if you wanted any wine or anything like that with dinner, you're on your own. I didn't think to tell Steve to pick any up."

She shook her head. "Not crass at all. And I don't do alcohol much. Clouds the mind, not happy making for a spy with a stressful protection detail. Maybe if I get to come over for Christmas, I'll pick up some eggnog of the non-child friendly variety, but not tonight."

"What's this 'if' crap? I don't think anyone's been able to screw up things that quickly with us," he said.

"I'm not about to break that streak then," she said. "How formal is dinner? I hope I don't have to show up in a nice dress and heels."

"Oh, god no," he said. "You looked fine today, just wear that. If you want to change, you don't have to get any more dressed up than that."

She glanced down at herself. "I suppose I should probably ditch the fuzzy slippers though, huh?"

"I think you might shock Steve with that much modernism if you didn't," Bucky said. "Remember, be here at six. If you're going to be late, have JARVIS let us know."

Sharon smiled. "I wouldn't leave you guys in the dark. I know that worry makes you go grey prematurely." He was almost expecting an age joke, but she either hadn't thought of one, or decided against it, because none was forthcoming. "I'll see you two in an hour and a half."

They bid each other goodbye, and the line disconnected.

Bucky contemplated the merits of baking cookies while he waited for Steve; a small batch of basic chocolate chips wouldn't take long, but it'd take up the oven and he needed that for the Chicken Kiev. He grabbed his tablet and looked at the recipe again. The only thing he could do before he needed something Steve was getting was chopping some garlic. And it'd be a bit before Steve got back, so having two cloves of garlic chopped and sitting in the fridge for the next half hour or so seemed pointless. But that extra half hour meant he could get cookies baked.

Good for his sanity, because otherwise, he'd spend the time trying to distract himself with the internet. He had something he needed to do on a deadline, and without anything that might actually distract him to do while he waited until he could start, he might go crazy. While he liked the internet, it was somewhat passive in the entertainment department.

It was actually forty minutes before Steve returned, about ten after five, and Bucky already had a batch of cookies cooling on wax paper spread out on one counter.

"Remind me to thank Tony for giving us the best kitchen ever," Bucky said after Steve came around the corner from the entrance way, a paper bag and a small plastic bag marked with the name of the novelty store in one hand.

Steve walked over and deposited the bags on the island separating the kitchen from the dining and living area. "You baked cookies."

"And you don't get one until after dinner," Bucky said, digging into the paper bag and pulling out a small, plastic produce bag that the chicken was wrapped in. He counted how many breasts were in there. Six, which meant he could make something with the other two for lunch the next day. That solved that question. He set the chicken on the counter by the stove, then dug back into the bag, pulling out the panko breading and the box of Little Debbies. Those he stashed on top of the fridge.

"So what made you decide to bake cookies?" Steve asked, watching Bucky examine the mortar and pestle. "Decided we needed a dessert?"

"No," Bucky said. "This thing's going to last this one meal before it craps out. Definitely getting a proper one later." He looked up at Steve. "I got bored." He turned away to start working at the counter.

"You got bored, so you baked cookies." Steve sounded somewhere between awed and amused.

Bucky decided not to grace Steve with so much as a pause in his work as he started pulling out the rest of what he needed to make dinner. "There's worse uses of my time," he said. "And Tony gave us a nice kitchen, I'd be an ungrateful asshole if I didn't make use of it once in awhile." He pulled out his chopping board and a small knife, and dropped two cloves of garlic on the board. He glanced over his shoulder at Steve one more time before getting to work. "Sharon's going to be here around six, so if you want to, go clean up."

"You sound like my mother," Steve said. "Is this what you're going to be like every time a girl comes over for me?"

Bucky pointed his knife at Steve. "It'd better not be different girls unless this one goes seriously south," he said. "And no, it's not. But I'd be a terrible older brother if I didn't fuss at you to make a good impression on your girl." He turned back to the garlic. "And I never said you _had_ to go clean up, just that if you wanted to, go do that now. Quit making me sound like the annoying housewife around here."

"Annoying, no," Steve said, sounding amused. "But if you _were_ the housewife around here, you'd be running a damn tight ship."

"I learned from my mother," Bucky said, mincing the garlic. "She had four of us to keep under control, and she'd been the eldest of five. It's a Barnes family tradition of being uptight about how the household is run."

"I remember meeting your grandmother once. I could see where your mother got it. And you are no different now."

Bucky chuckled. "If I have to take after a woman, no better woman than a Barnes woman," he said. "Although your mother was a piece of work, too."

Steve said something that Bucky didn't understand, couldn't parse as a language he knew, but it sounded familiar, and Steve's thick accent on the words made it painfully obvious why Bucky recognized it without knowing what was being said.

He stopped and stared back at Steve. "Okay, what did you just say? And I can't believe you still remember Irish."

Steve laughed. "I'm rusty. It's been awhile since I've used it. And I said she'd thank you for the compliment." He paused, then frowned. "I think. I clearly need to brush up on it if I plan to ever use it again."

Bucky tested the mortar and pestle cautiously, then decided it'd hold up if he was careful. "If you're actually going to start using it, you're teaching me. You'll drive me crazy, saying things I can't understand, otherwise." He scraped the garlic into the mortar with some salt, then looked at Steve. "Go entertain yourself and let me cook. You're distracting me."

The Chicken Kiev actually took a lot of waiting. The butter and garlic mix had to cool in the fridge for fifteen minutes. Then after it was spread on the chicken and the chicken was folded around it, the chicken had to sit in the freezer for a half an hour. Bread the chicken. More time in the freezer.

He was just preheating the oven for the final cook time when JARVIS announced Sharon's arrival. He looked at Steve just long enough to confirm that Steve was on his way to let Sharon in. Or rather, greet her at the door, since JARVIS controlled the door. Bucky sometimes wondered what they were supposed to do if something happened to JARVIS, but he suspected that his metal fist could probably make a decent hole in the door, if necessary.

Actually, thinking about it, Tony probably had a back up in place. He'd have to ask JARVIS later, when it was more appropriate to loudly ask a paranoid question than when his roommate was welcoming the new lady in the family into the apartment.

Sharon had changed from earlier, which was probably a good thing; the shirt she'd been wearing earlier was practical, but not very flattering, and even though she no longer had to make a first impression on them, it pleased the old-fashioned side of Bucky that she'd made a bit of an effort to look nice, even in an informal setting. And that shade of pale pink her sweater was in was flattering on her.

Steve had good taste in women, as far as Bucky was concerned.

"I'd say dinner smells good," Sharon said with a teasing smile once Steve had escorted her into the dining area. "But I don't smell anything."

Bucky shot her a mock sour look. "That's because the food required mostly freezing. It's about to cook now. It'll take about twenty minutes. Why don't you go sit with your boyfriend and stay out of my hair."

She looked at Steve. "I like him. Can we keep him?"

Steve grinned. "He's handy to have around sometimes. Sure."

"Both of you go sit down and leave me alone or you don't get dinner," Bucky said, dipping one of the pieces of balled up chicken into a saucepan full of hot oil with a pair of tongs.

"Now I smell cooking," Sharon said, and Bucky glanced back just in time to see her taking a seat at the dining room table after Steve offered it to her. "What are you making?"

"Chicken Kiev," Bucky replied, a bit distracted while he counted off time for the breading to brown in the oil. He heard the sound of another chair moving, and assumed that Steve had joined her at the table.

"What's in it?" Sharon asked.

"Chicken."

Steve very audibly sighed. "Sharon, may I introduce my informally adopted older brother, the smartass."

"Like you have any room to talk," Bucky said.

"It runs in the family," Steve said.

"It must be nice, to have someone so close," Sharon said.

After rescuing the first of the balled up chicken from the oil and placing it on the aluminum-covered baking sheet, Bucky glanced back at her. "You know, everyone keeps telling us that, and the more you people say it, the guiltier I feel that we have that and you don't."

She waved it off. "Don't. You shouldn't feel guilty for having something special. I just was an only child. Had lots of cousins and second cousins that I played with as a kid, and friends at school. A couple girls that I stayed close to up through high school, but then there's college, and everyone scatters across the country, and you still Facebook with them, but then there's marriage, and children, and people just kind of drift away. And then you get wrapped in your job, and protecting your neighbor becomes the only thing you really have time to care about."

"Oddly specific," Bucky said.

"She's been watching my back longer than she probably cares to remember," Steve said. "And being underhanded about it." He didn't sound angry, much to Bucky's relief. He wasn't about to let Steve screw up a good thing so quickly.

To her credit, Sharon sounded genuinely sorry when she replied. "I know you weren't happy about it, but you know how the industry works. If I wanted to keep you safe, it'd have to be without your knowledge until I was left no other choice."

"I know," Steve said.

"He's just sore that he's not that good at lying," Bucky said, sticking the last of the chicken on the baking sheet and slipping said baking sheet into the oven. "Sure did a lot of lying to get into the Army, though." He set the timer for the oven, and started cleaning up the mess left by the rest of the cooking, leaving the saucepan with the hot oil on an off back burner to cool.

"How many times did you try to enlist?" Sharon asked, not at all sincerely and with far too much amusement. If she honestly didn't know, Bucky would be very surprised.

"A few," Steve said, sounding somewhat contrite. "I didn't feel it was right to stay behind." There was a pause, and Bucky looked back from sticking the plate that had held the chicken into the dishwasher to see Steve studying him. "Besides, I couldn't let my best friend go without me."

"Don't you dare blame me," Bucky said without any heat. 

"I blame you, regardless," Steve said, flashing him a grin that only a little brother could master. Bucky returned that smile with a grumpy look.

Dinner only took between fifteen and twenty minutes to cook, and Bucky stayed mostly silent during that time, keeping his attention on the timer and the rice he decided at the last minute to make to supplement the chicken, listening in as Steve and Sharon talked. Sharon asked about his day, Steve said he'd spent most of the time reading. "Life between jobs isn't terribly exciting," he'd said.

Sharon didn't mention what went on at the meeting at the VA, said that the drive was relatively easy, well between lunch rush and the evening rush hour, but other than that, she just motioned to Bucky pointedly and Steve let the subject drop. They found other things to talk about, little things that only two people who were close could manage to come up with and be entertained by. Two strangers would be bored out of their minds and feel awkward.

Bucky was almost surprised at how easily those two fit together, he hadn't heard Steve have quite that much ease in a conversation with a woman except with Peggy. Sharon was fitting in well, and Bucky couldn't help but be happy about that. It was far too early to assume how long this relationship would last, or where it would go, but if they ended up having to rearrange their lives to accommodate her as a member of the household, Bucky was fine with that. It'd be nice to have a sister around again.

As long as she didn't bring in a hair dryer and take forever in the bathroom. He might have to draw the line there.

"Okay," Steve said once dinner was served and they were seated. He looked at Bucky. "Sharon made a point of making me wait to ask you. Where is the VA having you work?"

Bucky gave Sharon a betrayed look, then focused on his food. "I'm not working with the VA directly," he said, cutting into his chicken. "Most of the help they need would involve me contacting other people on the vets' behalf and it might discourage someone from helping if they get a call from James Barnes about it. The guy there referred me to an emergency shelter that deals with vets exclusively. I'm going to apply as a volunteer, maybe play security overnight a couple nights a week. Depends on if they decide to let me in."

"Don't sound so excited about it," Steve said, pausing in the conversation to compliment Bucky and the recipe, a sentiment that Sharon shared. "So what on the internet did you find that made you decide to pick this cause for the season?"

Bucky glanced at Sharon, who watched him pointedly over a forkful of rice, then sighed. He went back to his food. "Not just for the season," he said. "Those guys need help beyond just Christmas."

Steve was, as usual, undeterred when Bucky hadn't answered one of his questions. "True. So what'd you find?"

"I didn't find anything on the internet," Bucky said, taking a bite. "Found out from the streets directly what was going on." He looked up at Steve. "Where do you think I was before I showed up at the apartment after the helicarriers went down? I was getting soggy in back alleys because the only places out there are almost exclusively for families and there's pretty much nothing for us vets."

At first, Bucky couldn't tell if Steve was shocked or completely unsurprised. It was an odd juxtaposition on his face. Finally, he drew in a deep breath. "You should've come home."

"Couldn't yet," Bucky said. "My head wasn't screwed on straight enough for it to be safe for either of us." Then he gave Steve a stern look. "We're not discussing this." He almost said more to put Steve in his place, but he glanced at Sharon and decided that much family intimacy might be better saved for when she had been around them longer and wasn't such a newcomer. So he settled on giving Steve a further silent warning in a raised eyebrow and pointed silence.

Steve took the hint.

"Is this a family recipe?" Sharon asked, not quite so gracefully switching the subject for them. "I wouldn't mind a copy, if it's not a secret."

Bucky shook his head. "I wish I could say it was a family recipe, but I got it online." He grinned in almost a laugh. "I'll send the link to you. The site lets you change how many servings you want, so it'll adjust the recipe to feed just you, if you'd rather."

"Perfect," Sharon said. "It can be hard to find good recipes for people living alone."

"Just imagine having to take every recipe you learned that fed a minimum of six people and try to scale it down for one," Bucky said. He motioned to Steve. "He didn't have it much better, he was an only child, but he didn't eat much, sometimes not at all, so he still had to scale everything down."

Sharon looked at Steve in shock. "Why didn't you eat? Was it that bad during the Depression?"

Steve shrugged, clearly trying to figure out the best way to answer. "It was sometimes, but not so bad that I couldn't afford at least a little bit. The problem sometimes was that I got ulcers, and those aren't conductive to wanting to eat."

She shook her head, cutting another bite of her chicken. "I've read the files, I know about the physical ailments, but it's hard to remember that it was a reality at one point. I never knew you before the serum."

Steve looked at Bucky, even though he was answering Sharon. "Nobody really does anymore."

"Don't give me that look," Bucky said, barely remembering to swallow before talking. "Peter's still around, he knew you back then."

Sharon covered her mouth with her hand, clearly trying to chew faster so she could say something. "Your best friend can't be grateful to have you back?" she finally asked.

Bucky looked at her, then at Steve. "Steve? Focus on your girlfriend, please. I am just here to cook and pick out the movie."

"I thought you said this wasn't a chaperoned date," Steve said, giving him a pointed look.

"It's not," Bucky said. "But you're neglecting her, and you're already making a bad boyfriend."

"Oh, he doesn't neglect me when we're alone," Sharon said, and Steve actually turned a bit red.

Bucky studied Steve for a long, quiet moment. "If it were anyone other than you, I'd be making inappropriate comments."

"But you're not going to," Steve told him firmly.

Bucky laughed. "Shut up and eat."

Steve tried to make Bucky let him do the kitchen, but Bucky told him that he should spend the time with Sharon, Bucky'd had plenty of time with her that afternoon, and to start the movie. It'd be nothing but the opening credits, and Bucky would have the dishwasher running by the time the movie actually started.

Steve and Sharon had seated themselves on one couch, the one with its back to the door, which Bucky thought was awfully trusting of them, particularly of Sharon, but it meant he could sit in the couch that was angled just enough that he could watch the door himself.

Steve gave him a curious look when Bucky settled himself on the other couch, but didn't question, particularly not when Sharon decided to lean against him. Hint received.

Bucky was surprised that he actually remembered far more about the movie than he thought he did when Peter brought it up weeks ago. Somehow, though, he'd forgotten about the insanity line. He must've been asleep at that part in the theater back in '44.

Bucky noticed Steve looking at Sharon every now and then out of the corner of his eye, looking somewhat awkward with her curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder. He'd get used to it, and good.

The movie was just shy of two hours long, and it was nine before it ended. Sharon looked half-asleep against Steve. She shifted, sitting up and stretching with a yawn. "Bucky, I think your cooking almost put me in a food coma." She looked at her watch. "Or, maybe it's just an hour from bedtime and that might be why I'm tired."

"I was going to say, dinner was two hours ago, you can't blame my food for that now," Bucky said.

She stood. "So I won't," she said. "But I do need to get home. I have a few things I want to do before I go to bed."

Steve got up. "Do you want me to walk you home?" he asked.

Sharon smiled. "Thank you, but I live just down the hall. I'm sure I'll survive the big, bad, omni-present computer that might sneak up on me between here and there." She took his hand. "You can walk me to the door, though."

Bucky decided about that time to watch out the windows at the Manhattan night, lit up brilliantly by the city lights, rather than watch Steve and Sharon. He may be sitting right there, but he could afford them some measure of privacy.

The city had grown since he'd lived in Brooklyn, lights and buildings even more impossibly tall than they had been in his day having taken over everything. Manhattan was its own world compared to Brooklyn, or so he was told. He hadn't gone back to Brooklyn since moving to the Tower, but he had a feeling it was still going to be overwhelming compared to what he remembered. Maybe not in some of the older areas, but they would be so aged, they wouldn't be recognizable, either, and Bucky didn't care to go seeing how much even the buildings had gotten old and worn down and he hadn't.

He shoved those thoughts aside when he heard the door shut and Steve's footsteps coming back into the apartment. His good mood took back over, looking at Steve with a shit-eating grin. "So, good idea?"

Steve pointed at him. "I know that's not the question you wanted to ask," he said. "And the answer to _that_ is none of your business. As for the question you actually asked, yes, it was. Don't say you told me so, because you're too old for that."

"You're never too old for 'I told you so'," Bucky said. "But seriously, is tonight a good indication of how things are going for you two?"

Steve took his former seat, reclining back, looking at the blank screen in front of him. "For the most part. Didn't realize she was a cuddler, though." He looked at Bucky. "I'd ask if it made you feel awkward, but I saw you grinning like an idiot every time I caught you looking at us."

Bucky laughed. "If she'd gotten friendlier than that, I might've, but no, not really. I'm just glad you've got a good girl, finally."

"Mm." Steve glanced back towards the door. "Okay, so it took me awhile." He looked at Bucky. "Now we need to worry about you."

Bucky made a derisive noise. "You know I don't want commitment," he said. "I'll find a date when I find a date. Relax. You're the one interested in settling down someday, that's harder to find. Finding a girl interested in a few dates with no strings attached is easy."

"Harder now to find no strings without a string that last I knew, you weren't interested in tugging on too hard because of how risky it was."

For a second, Bucky honestly couldn't figure out what the hell Steve was talking about, before it sank in. "Oh, that string. It's a fun risk to take sometimes. And these days, it's a bit easier to find that string's not as risky as it was. Don't worry about me and what I do or don't do with girls, okay? Just focus on your own girl." He hoped Steve didn't actually believe that Bucky had remained celibate all those years.

"I'm the annoying little brother, I'm supposed to poke you about girls," Steve said, the issue seeming to pass by.

"Let's get you settled, first," Bucky said. "Seriously, don't nag me."

Steve held up his hands in surrender. "All right, subject dropped."

With the dropped subject, the conversation strayed to almost nothing, finding themselves winding down a bit, the tablet and a book becoming their focus instead, until ten passed, and they both said good night to each other.


	6. Snowstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I guess I don't adapt as quickly as I did before Hydra. I had specific programming, anything outside the parameters of what I was used to was... well, not anything we wanted to see happen."

It was raining.

It was raining, but he couldn't hear it. He saw the guys next to him, ducked down behind the trench, saw some firing back at the Germans. A grenade went off somewhere nearby.

But he couldn't hear any of it.

Something must've gone off close to him, something he didn't see that deafened him and he struggled to not panic. He needed to hear, needed to hear his mates calling out locations, needed to hear the incoming artillery but it was just silent. Dum Dum and Morita were yelling something at him, motioning over the trench, then lifting their weapons and firing. He couldn't hear their guns. Couldn't hear their yelling.

The rain was cold on his face, soaking his uniform, and he could feel the tip tap of it on his helmet, vision somewhat blocked by it streaming off the edge and over his eyes. He shook his head, his hands too occupied holding his weapon to bother lifting one to wipe the water out of his face. His muscles tensed and shook from the cold.

He struggled to get over the edge of the trench, to try to assess the situation himself, but he was mired. The ground was soft from the rain; cold and muddy, cold and wet, wet from the constant rain. Rain he couldn't hear. He threw out his left hand, his right holding tightly to his weapon, trying to grab hold of something solid. The light of an explosion glinted off the metal.

Bucky snapped awake, breathing quickly and heart racing around his chest. The room was dark, bedroom door shut, no windows, and lights off. The silence that had invaded his mind was finally being broken by the sound of the heat turning on. He sighed, closing his eyes again for a moment, then got up from under the blankets and sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands over his face.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he muttered to himself. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd had since moving to the Tower. It was too quiet. He was used to hearing Steve across the room. He wasn't used to not hearing much of anything, actually. When he'd sleep on a mission, someone was always armed and nearby. Before Hydra, there was the field, always surrounded by the other guys, a variety of snores and whistles and heavy breathing filling up the silence.

This whole sleeping alone thing was going to take some getting used to.

Still shaking off post-nightmare jitters and a good helping of paranoia, Bucky got up and quietly opened his door, heading down the hall to Steve's room. Steve slept with his door open, so Bucky was able to poke his head in and confirm for his own peace of mind that Steve was okay and sleeping peacefully, breathing deep and even.

Good.

He went back to his room, pausing at the nightstand, staring at his bed as if he wasn't sure he wanted to actually get back in it and go to sleep.

Deciding that the bed was too soft for sleep that night, he grabbed his top blanket and pillow and dragged them out to the living room, forgetting to shut his bedroom door behind him. He dropped the pillow on one end of the couch with the back to the door. The other one was just catty-corner to the one he'd chosen, leaving the corner he'd put his pillow on less than three feet from the adjacent corner of the other couch. The screen that was still down for viewing and the Christmas tree shielded out some of the light from outside, keeping it from shining right in his eyes. Outside, he could hear the sounds of Manhattan's night life. Not his favorite sound, but at least it wasn't fucking silence.

Just as he'd managed to spread out his blanket and sit down on the couch, not quite ready to lay down, he heard sounds of footsteps in the back hall. He held still, barely breathing, listening, hoping Steve was just going to the bathroom. After a second, he had to resist the urge groan. Steve hadn't stopped at the bathroom, he was heading out to the living room.

"Bucky, what're you doing out here?"

Bucky as glad that his back was to Steve for the moment, as he closed his eyes and started silently swearing in a few different languages. "Just having trouble sleeping, Steve. Thought a change of location would help. Go back to bed."

Steve wasn't inclined to listen, apparently, as Bucky heard his footsteps walk down into the living area. Steve settled himself on the couch next to Bucky. "This is the third time in a week you've come out here," he said. "What's going on?"

Bucky looked at him. "I'm just having trouble sleeping, that's all. It's a new place, it'll take me some time to adjust."

"That's why you keep walking to my bedroom when you have trouble sleeping?" Steve asked, tone gentle and sympathetic.

Damnit. "You are annoying," Bucky said. "I'm just not used to not hearing someone alive nearby when I sleep. I don't think I've slept alone since before I deployed. I'll get used to it." Then he gave Steve an impatient look. "Really, go back to bed." He motioned out the windows. "The city keeps me company, you don't need to."

"I like you better than the city does," Steve said. Bucky had no reply to that, so silence passed for a bit before Steve spoke up again. "We could always move beds again."

Bucky sighed heavily. "Steve, I'm a grown man, I'm going to have to learn to sleep in my own room eventually. I just... I guess I don't adapt as quickly as I did before Hydra. I had specific programming, anything outside the parameters of what I was used to was... well, not anything we wanted to see happen. That doesn't mean I won't get used to it." Then he looked over at Steve. "Besides, eventually you're going to settle down and I'll have to get used to it anyway."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Bucky, me getting married to _anyone_ isn't happening any time soon. Let me enjoy dating before you throw me down the aisle."

Bucky laughed, a quick exhale of air. "I like planning for the future, that's all. Especially the good stuff." He rubbed the knuckles of his mechanical hand. "Better than the bleak stuff, right? I mean, I _could_ brood more, if that'd make you happy."

"If you do, I'm grabbing you in a headlock and not letting go until you cry for mercy," Steve said sternly. Then he smiled. "I'm glad you're thinking of good things. But you're bracing yourself for something that's not happening for awhile. Tell you what." He stood. "I'll sleep out here with you." Bucky opened his mouth to protest and Steve held up a hand. "We won't do it every night. Just the bad nights. You'll adjust and soon we won't need to at all. It's not your fault that you have trouble adapting to new routines. Like you said, that was Hydra. So we'll undo what they did."

Bucky didn't think 'undoing what they did' was as simple as all that, but getting one part of his self-autonomy back would be nice, so baby steps, he supposed. "Fine." He pushed his flesh hand into the couch, noting for for his reference that the couch actually was firmer than his bed. He hadn't paid attention before, was more focused on having sound than on if the couch was soft or not. He looked back up at Steve. "It's not as soft as a bed."

"And you should know as well as anyone that sometimes, that's perfect," Steve said. "Get comfortable, I'll be right back out."

Bucky felt silly, did every time Steve ended up doing something to accommodate one of his neuroses, but at least nobody was making him sit through professional therapy. He'd seen soldiers, good men, ruined after war, and that was just how the human mind worked sometimes. He understood that, but that didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

But he did as he was told, settling down under his blanket. He only had the one blanket, and the windows made it a touch chillier in the living room than it had been in a dark and closed off bedroom. "JARVIS, can you bump the heater a degree?" he said, voice low in the semi-darkened room. "And dim the windows."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said, quieter than he was during the day. The apartment was in sleep mode, even JARVIS had a library voice.

The furnace had just turned on when Bucky left his room, but it'd stay on a bit longer. The light from outside dimmed as the windows darkened slightly. Steve's footsteps joined the sounds of the vents a few seconds later, and then Steve passed between Bucky and the windows, the corner of his blanket trailing on the ground behind his feet. Bucky twisted his head a bit to watch Steve set up the other couch for himself and settle in, his head at the corner closest to Bucky's.

"Hey," Bucky said quietly, as Steve fussed around on the couch a bit, getting comfortable.

Steve tilted his head back to look at Bucky. "Yeah, Buck?"

"You ever need something like this, you tell me. You're not the only one threatening a headlock around here."

Steve chuckled. "Don't worry. I was actually starting to get tempted to come out here myself," he said. "It's been awhile since I slept alone, too. Keep waking up and wondering where you are. Then I notice how the room looks different, and I remember."

Bucky made a quiet noise, then frowned. "How come you haven't woken me for any of this?"

Steve shrugged. "I'm usually tired enough that after I remember, I fall back asleep. Besides, if I went to check on you, I'd have to open your door and it'd wake you."

"Headlock, Steve."

"You win. Next time. I promise."

Satisfied that Steve would do what he was told now that he'd used the words 'I promise,' Bucky turned his head back to a more natural angle and laid it on his pillow. The sounds of traffic outside were faint compared to the rumble of the heat, and Steve's breath evening into sleep, and it didn't take long before Bucky nodded back off.

Even though the windows were dimmed, it was still brighter in there when Bucky woke up than when he'd gone to sleep. He cracked an eye open, looking out the windows just past the screen and tree. The sky was a pale grey, and it was snowing. He craned his neck to see if Steve was awake. It didn't look like it, Steve not moving except the rise and fall of his chest, so Bucky sat up, glancing between Steve and the hallway where the bathroom was.

Figuring that he could just argue with Steve over the bathroom, he decided to wake Steve up first. "Hey, Steve," he said, not loudly enough to startle Steve out of sleep, but loud enough to wake him.

"Hm?"

"It's snowing."

Steve lifted his head, staring blankly out the windows, before a grin threatened to crack his face. "We'll be sick of that by the time February rolls around, you know that, right?"

"Just like every year," Bucky said, then stood. "Go make your tea," he said. Steve had switched to some fruity brew that Sharon had introduced him to after he gave up on coffee. Bucky thought that tea couldn't measure up to hot cocoa, but if Steve wanted to waste kettle water on fruit leaves, that was up to him.

Bucky rejoined Steve in the living space fairly quickly, his mouth tasting of mint from the toothpaste. He made a vague noise in greeting to Steve as he passed the dining room table to make a mug of cocoa.

Steve was watching out the window when Bucky joined him, stirring his cocoa. Bucky stayed quiet, letting Steve's brain do whatever it was doing, whether he was thinking of something, or just woolgathering. Bucky's mind was, for once, calm, the snow outside feeling like a blanket that quieted thoughts. The only sounds were the noises of life outside, and the clinking of Bucky's spoon on the inside of his mug.

For the moment, it was peaceful, and Bucky liked that. Up until he and Steve had been released from Fort Meade, peace wasn't always easy to come by. Not this kind, not where things felt more than okay. Hydra was still out there, but that could wait for later. His brain still had some misfiring neurons, but that was something that wasn't important right then. What was important was the fact that for a moment, everything seemed right.

The sound of Steve sipping his tea drew Bucky's attention away from watching the snow fall outside. He looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye, one eyebrow raised. "You're not supposed to slurp it, Steve."

Steve grimaced, setting down his cup. "It's still too hot."

"That never stopped you with coffee," Bucky pointed out, giving his cocoa another stir.

"And I told you the reason for that," Steve said. "I actually _like_ this tea, I'd like to be able to taste it."

Bucky leaned forward slightly, trying to get a whiff of the tea past his cocoa. "What kind of tea is that?"

Steve grabbed the end of the string on the tea bag, reading the paper tab attached to it. "Bavarian wild berry. Sharon gave it to me to try."

Bucky took a tentative sip of his cocoa, _not_ making a horrible slurping sound in the process, testing the heat. It was about acceptable, the milk he'd added cooling it down faster than Steve's tea was. "You're drinking fruit tea because your girlfriend asked you to."

Steve gave him a dirty look. "I don't know where you're going with this, but don't," he warned. "It has more flavor than plain tea."

Bucky decided to not tease Steve on the subject further. "How is it?"

Steve studied the tea a moment. "Not bad. Better than the mint stuff she recommended last time. That just made me think I was drinking toothpaste."

"That's a disgusting thought," Bucky said, nose wrinkling.

They fell into another comfortable silence for awhile, Steve finishing off his tea and going for another cup. Bucky was slower to finish his cocoa, spending more time watching out the window. He could've easily spent the morning just watching it and enjoying the peaceful feeling it invoked.

Steve sat back down across from him with his second cup, playing with the tea bag, steeping the tea. "So what are you planning on doing to give Sharon a heart attack today?" he asked.

Bucky turned his head from the window to stare at Steve blankly a moment. "I don't know," he said. "And we both gave her that heart attack yesterday. So don't pin that on me."

"So another quiet day?"

Bucky frowned. "I should probably go apply at that shelter, actually." He glanced back out the window briefly. "But the weather is making me want to stay here."

"So go tomorrow," Steve said.

"It's tempting," Bucky admitted. "But the faster I get applied and approved, the faster I can start helping those guys."

"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS said. "I do hate to interrupt, but Mister Stark is at the door. Shall I let him in?"

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. Steve glanced back towards the door. "It's too early for him," he said. "But yeah, sure, let him in."

Before Tony was even in view, his voice could be heard saying "good morning, old guys!" He sounded way too damn chipper. Bucky decided to go put his mug in the dishwasher and start breakfast and leave Tony for Steve to deal with.

Steve half-turned in his seat, looking over his shoulder at Tony. "It's not even breakfast, what are you doing up and around?"

Tony lifted a small paper bag. "Delivering a present. JARVIS said you needed one of these." He held it out. "It's for the resident cook."

Bucky stopped, a skillet hovering inches above the stove, and frowned. "Me?" He set the skillet down and walked around the kitchen island to meet Tony next to the table. "What is it?"

Tony all but shoved the bag into his hands. "Look and find out."

Reluctantly, wondering what the hell Tony could get him that he'd need in the kitchen, Bucky took the bag and looked in. "What the- Tony." He pulled out a granite mortar, the pestle still in the bag. "So I needed it once so far, and you already knew about it and got me one?" He glanced up. "JARVIS."

Tony answered for the AI. "I asked him if you were having any problems with the apartment that you weren't telling me about. I know you two were raised in different types of households than I was. You don't always ask when you want something. He mentioned that your kitchen was fully stocked, but you needed one of those. I figured, why not? It's your only complaint so far, that means I did good with this place."

"I don't know whether to thank you, or be uncomfortable that you're able to spy on us through your computer that we can't avoid," Bucky said.

"Say thank you," Tony said. "It goes over better. And relax, I'm not going to disrespect your privacy. I just asked about holes in my designs for your place." He held up his hands. "Promise. That's it."

Bucky and Steve exchanged another look, something they ended up doing often around Tony, then Bucky looked back at Tony. "You know, you could've just asked us."

"I know," Tony said. "But would you have said you needed that?"

"That's not the point," Bucky said. "This isn't anything we couldn't get ourselves."

Tony made a noise of frustration. "Let me spoil you."

"Christmas is coming up," Steve said. "Spoil us for Christmas, not for everything else. We _have_ money, Tony. We're not exactly living hand to mouth here."

"I know," Tony said. "But it hasn't been that long since his past association with Hydra went public." He motioned to Bucky. "It might be hard to land a job just yet. Save what you have for food, let me take care of the rest." At Steve and Bucky's shared reluctant expressions, Tony sighed theatrically. "I'm being logical! I have the money! My company has the money!"

"I thought you retired as CEO," Steve interrupted.

Tony gave him a dirty look. "You're derailing the subject, but yes, Pepper's CEO now. I still own the most shares in the company, though, so I can still hold it hostage. But that's not the point, the point is, money is not scarce for me, it is _not_ an imposition for me to help out until things settle down." He looked reluctant to continue speaking. "Especially since I put out that information without permission. I didn't trust the government to do what they should've."

Any opposition- logical or prideful or otherwise -that Bucky had to Tony's generosity that was almost as big as his ego disappeared. "Tony, you saved my ass. Don't feel like you have to make up for that." Bucky had a feeling that Tony's reluctance had less to do with feeling guilty and just not wanting to bring the subject up. He lifted the mortar pointedly. "But if it makes you feel warm and squishy inside, thank you. I wasn't sure where I was going to get a real one."

Tony held out his hand, motioning to Bucky as if to say 'see? I'm right.' "You're welcome. Now." He looked back at the tree that the screen was currently in front of. "JARVIS, raise the screen, let's show off that tree."

Steve had a long-suffering look on his face as the screen raised back up into the ceiling, revealing the tree in all its Old Glory. "Tony, you didn't have to. Really."

"I wanted to," Tony said with a shit-eating grin. He walked over to the couches, looking ready to flop on one and admire his handiwork, then paused, staring at the bedding. "What, we had a slumber party?"

There was another one of those exchanges of looks, then Bucky set the mortar and the bag with the pestle down on the table and followed Tony to the couches. "The beds were too soft last night," he said, grabbing his pillow and blanket.

"Too soft? I can have new ones brought in. I didn't realize super soldiers got back problems."

Bucky looked up at Tony, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Steve had abandoned his tea to gather up his own bedding. "It's not that," Bucky said. "It's something guys who have been in the field understand. Soft beds aren't something you get out there."

Tony didn't look like he needed further clarification. "Ah. Well, if you change your mind, let me know, I'll have something brought in." Once the bedding was cleared, Tony took a seat on the couch facing away from the door, and admired the tree. "Gotta say, I outdid myself with that tree."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I won't disagree with that," he said, following Bucky back down the hall. Bucky stopped in his own room, dropping his blanket and pillow onto his bed, then waited out in the hallway for Steve to join him.

Bucky passed Tony and the table, where Steve paused to get his cup of tea before joining Tony, and went into the kitchen. "Since you're here, do you want breakfast?" he asked Tony. "We haven't eaten yet."

"I ate," Tony said. "But I wouldn't mind a sample." He lifted his head slightly, as if trying to see over the kitchen island from where he sat. "What's for breakfast?"

Bucky looked in the fridge. "Something with cheese," he said. "We have a lot of cheese." He looked back over his shoulder at Steve. "Do we have potatoes? Or did I manage to talk you out of them?"

"Funny," Steve said. "We should have some in the vegetable bin."

Bucky went to investigate the bin, lifting out the half-gone bag. "We have potatoes, eggs and a lot of cheese. So we're having hash browns and cheese omelets."

"And toast?" Tony asked, tone hopeful.

Bucky looked at him. "I thought you only wanted a sample."

Tony held out his hands innocently. "You can't have eggs without toast, that's all. I didn't make that rule."

"You mean you're actually following a rule?"

"I follow all sorts of rules," Tony said, a bit defensively. "Just selectively."

Steve made a rude noise, before taking a sip of his tea. Bucky smothered a smirk at the sound. It may have been a rude noise, but it was a thousand times nicer than what had just gone through his mind, and Bucky knew it.

Tony didn't look terribly impressed. "Some rules don't need to be followed."

Bucky didn't look over as he set up a large bowl and his grater. "All right, Tony, we'll have toast. Does that make you happy?"

"Immensely," Tony said, watching him. "Are you grating the potatoes?"

Bucky grabbed a potato and looked over at Tony. "Unless you want a whole fried potato, I'm not sure how else I'm supposed to make you hash browns."

Tony was silent a moment. "By the time you get through that whole pound, I'll probably be hungry enough for a full meal. Just so you know."

Bucky sighed and went to work. "Tony, you get what I give you."

"You sound like a mother," Tony complained.

"That's because I take after my mother," Bucky said. "So I'll take that as a compliment."

"Fair enough."

Thankfully, Tony turned his attention on Steve, and Steve obliged Bucky by keeping him distracted so Bucky could cook without having to frequently turn to fling something at Tony's head.

When the food was ready, Bucky decided to be nice and serve their portions for them, making sure he and Steve had a proper portion for themselves, and giving the rest to Tony. "Come eat," he said, setting Steve and Tony's plates on the table before returning to the kitchen to fetch his own.

Tony and Steve eagerly converged on the table, Tony deferring to Steve and Bucky for their usual seats before taking a spare one. Tony studied the food, sniffing it. "Well, it smells and looks good," he said.

Bucky gave him a warning look, grabbing his fork and pointing it at Tony's food. "How about you try it before you even _imply_ that my cooking is not up to par."

Tony held up his hands. "Easy with the eating utensils, you savage," Tony said. "I still haven't forgiven you for my cheeseburger." He grabbed his fork. "I wasn't implying anything, I was merely complimenting what I had sensory input for."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and eat, Tony."

For once, Tony did what he was instructed to do, starting with the hash browns, then the omelet, that he took with a big bite of toast. Bucky tried to pretend he wasn't watching nervously. Tony probably regularly indulged in gourmet food, even if his idea of a cheeseburger was Burger King. He had a higher standard to compare Bucky's cooking to.

Once he'd sampled a bit of everything, Tony stared at Bucky. "Why did you go into weapons design when you could've become a world class chef?" he demanded. "This is fantastic. Do you cater?" He looked back at his food. "What the hell did you put in these hash browns?"

"Just some spices," Bucky said, shrugging and taking a bite. "If I told you, you wouldn't come back for more."

"Good business tactic," Tony said. "So how often am I invited to dinner? I'll even dress up if you ask nice."

Steve looked at Bucky, though Bucky wasn't sure what for, before he looked at Tony. "We mentioned maybe having a party on Christmas or Christmas Eve with the Avengers, since we'll all be around. Bucky talked about wanting to cook for more people."

"Perfect," Tony said as if he'd thought of it. "You'll have to be warned that Thor has a bigger appetite than we mere mortal men, so you'll want to cook more." He looked at Bucky. "Did you want your brother to be introduced to that messy group? Or I can have him brought up earlier in the week, then he can spend Christmas with the rest of your family that you should consider meeting."

"Oh god no," Bucky said. "There's about thirty generations of a million people each, they can be satisfied knowing they're related to someone famous and not actually meeting said famous person. I'll talk to Peter, see what he wants to do. The family probably does have a yearly tradition, and I'm not sure he'll feel terribly comfortable around a bunch of superheroes. He's old, he's retired, a bunch of grand nieces and nephews are probably more his speed."

"Call him today," Tony said. "Lemme know what he says. I'll make arrangements." His sentences were punctuated by more bites, like he couldn't quite make himself finish a thought without interrupting it with food. "So, any other plans today that I can come along with and pester you?"

Bucky bit back a sigh. "I was going to go down to Cohen Mercy Mission, it's down in the lower east side, fill out an application for volunteer work."

Tony looked like he was trying to place the name, lips moving as he mumbled the name a couple times, almost completely inaudible. "Never heard of it. What is it?"

"An emergency shelter for homeless vets," Bucky said. "It's not the high profile charity work you said I should do, but it's something."

Tony shook his head and shrugged at the same time, chewing more food. He actually had the decency to swallow before speaking, though. "I'm not going to disapprove of a good cause like that. Tell me how bad things are when you get there, I will make sure attention gets dragged to it so things improve."

Bucky couldn't help a bit of a smile. "You can't save the world, Tony," he said. "I don't know if even you and Pepper together can fix the problem entirely."

"I don't know about that," Tony said. "Give me some numbers. How many are out there?"

"On any given night? Over three hundred thousand," Bucky said. "And over a million in danger of it. They're not given proper vocational training once they get home, most are not given medical or psychiatric treatment, the divorce rates are up forty percent in the last few years, their wives leave them and take the kids and they have nothing left but the streets. It's more than just something you can give some press and a few million dollars to and expect it to be fixed."

"I wasn't expecting it to be fixed," Tony said. "And I can too save the world. Ask Cap."

Steve looked at him. "Tony. He wasn't talking about evil aliens and insane Norse gods."

"Allow a man his accomplishments," Tony said. Then he frowned, turning his attention back to Bucky. "The problem is, the system's broken. You're right, I could throw all sorts of money and press at it, but it'd still be there. But I can throw some press, a token donation, and make sure you're visible in the press. Maybe having a fellow vet standing up for these guys will get more of the guys that made it all right involved. What's the VA's budget?"

"Not much," Bucky said. "I don't know exact numbers. I just know that most of that overinflated defense budget does not put enough into this."

Tony looked pained. "Most of that's R&D. I'm sorry to say that my company helped contribute to that. Weapons manufacturers put a big price tag on this stuff, the military pays it, money gets spent on stuff they don't need and not on the guys they need to use it." He sighed, then dug into his omelet. "So don't feel I'm doing this as a favor to you anymore. This is something I should've already been involved in."

Bucky didn't want to turn down the help; he knew Tony was right in that attention needed to be brought to the issue for anything to get done, attention that Bucky couldn't pull off by himself, but he had a feeling that he'd just been set up at a token spokesman and he wasn't sure that'd actually help his reputation. "Honestly, I'd rather do this separately from you," he said. "Not that I don't appreciate the help, but-"

"I know," Tony cut him off. "I know what you're thinking, and you're right, we shouldn't do this together. Or at least not make it look like we're doing it together. I can have someone put in a call to one of New York's thousands of local papers, have a single reporter or so go down to the shelter, no idea that Stark Industries is behind it, get the issue noticed, get you seen involved, you get the rep boost you need, and something gets printed about it. Wait a little, then I'll jump on it, saying I saw the article, saw that you were involved, got some information, decided I wanted in on it. It looks entirely like your idea and not like a cheap attempt on my part to help you get better ratings."

Bucky propped his chin on his fist, studying Tony. "I'm not sure if you're giving too much, or not enough credit to the public on this issue."

"Relax," Tony said. "I know what I'm doing. I'll even get our PR team to hammer out details for me. I'd say maybe get Pepper in on it, she's better at not being suspected of underhanded tactics by the public. But..." He trailed off. "She's not really up for that right now."

"Is something wrong?" Bucky asked.

Tony didn't answer right away, studying him. "She's just not in a good mood right now."

Something about that seemed ominous, and Bucky started to get a gut feeling it had to do with a certain duo who did a certain crime against their friendship with Pepper and Tony. Bucky knew it was coming, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Steve seemed to pick up on that, too, but he set it aside, getting up with his empty plate. "Anyone done? I'll take the plates out."

Bucky started to say no, that he wasn't done, then looked at his plate and realized he actually was. Well, distracting conversation. He handed over his plate. "Thanks."

Tony handed over his mostly empty plate. "It was great, couldn't finish. Still ate earlier." He looked at Bucky. "So, Christmas, or Christmas Eve for that dinner? I'll even help you come up with a menu that should make everyone happy." His eyes rolled towards the ceiling, silently counting. "We'll have seven, I think?" He looked towards the kitchen where Steve was loading the dishwasher. "Hey, Cap, think your girlfriend will want to join that shindig?"

"I don't know," Steve said. "She'd probably like an invitation, though. She might have family she'll spend time with, since Bucky and I will be around you guys for the day. She won't have to down a bunch of antacids from worry about how safe we are."

"Then she doesn't know the Avengers," Tony said. "But okay, seven, six if Sharon decides she'll pass." He made a frustrated noise, his brow furrowing. "If I can find them before then, we'll have Natasha and Barton."

Bucky stared at the table. He wasn't going to give voice to it, but he was worried about them, mostly about Natasha. He didn't know Barton except by reputation, but he was an Avenger, and a friend of his friends, which meant Bucky wanted to see him home and safe as much as he wanted Natasha the same. He still didn't know how fond of Natasha personally he was, but she'd saved his ass, he didn't like not being able to return the favor.

"They'll come out of hiding," he said, looking up at Tony. "You said it yourself, they'll probably fly in on Santa's sleigh. I'll cook to accommodate them, and if they aren't here, I'm sure Thor and Steve and I will be able to minimize leftovers, if Thor eats as much as you say."

"Oh, he can," Tony assured him. "You haven't met Thor yet, have you?"

Bucky shook his head. "I haven't met Bruce except over the phone yet, either."

Tony looked at him in disbelief. "You haven't? Okay, we're changing that. JARVIS, is Bruce in the medical center, or can we pester him at his apartment?"

"He's in the medical center, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Good." Tony motioned at them. "Both of you, go get dressed. We're going to go meet people."

Bucky gave Tony a grumpy look, but got up dutifully. "Steve, look at what you brought into my life."

Behind him, Steve set the dishwasher to run, the appliance coming to life with the rushing sound of water. "I should be saying sorry to them for bringing you into theirs."

Bucky stopped and stared at Steve. "You're a punk."


	7. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What degree would that be? Something in engineering, I'm sure."
> 
> "Chemical engineering," Bucky said. When Tony and Bruce slowly looked at each other, Bucky suddenly knew what a lamb might feel in front of a pack of wolves.

Bucky decided to wear cargoes, and nuts to Tony if he didn't like them. They were easier to wear with his boots than jeans were. Maybe he should look into more than three pairs of shoes, actually. Something to file away for later.

He armed himself, his Beretta M9 comfortably holstered at the small of his back, and a knife that was small enough it'd almost be useless for anyone who didn't have the strength to really make it count was deposited into one of his thigh pockets.

Tony gave him that same critical look that he had the day before. "Did they even have those when you were around?" he asked.

"Once the war started, yeah. You remember I wear a lot of pockets normally anyway, right? These pockets aren't empty."

Tony went quiet, only glancing away as Steve came out of the hallway behind Bucky. Steve paused at Bucky's side, looking between Tony and Bucky and apparently deciding that it was best he didn't ask.

"How armed are you?" Tony asked. He didn't sound like he terribly disapproved, so Bucky wasn't worried that he would be told he couldn't wander around armed. "Because guns are going to weigh those pockets down."

Bucky flashed him an unpleasant smile. "Wouldn't you like to know." Then he shrugged. "Just a Beretta M9. And not in a pocket. And unless you count a knife that barely counts as one in my right thigh pocket as something worth bothering about, nothing else."

"Oh," Steve said. "That's what you were asking about. Yeah, Bucky got paranoid after Hydra decided to throw out incriminating information about him. It'd looked like they were leaving us alone, until that happened."

Tony made a conciliatory expression. "Fair enough." He eyed Steve. "What about you?"

"Bucky doesn't let me leave the apartment without him if I'm not carrying something," Steve said, rolling his eyes and giving Bucky a stare that wasn't quite annoyed, but wasn't quite _not_ annoyed.

"If you don't like it, you can start carrying your shield, instead," Bucky said. "Hydra's killed us both once already, we don't need a repeat of history."

"He makes a good point," Tony said, one eyebrow raised as if he hadn't really considered that thought before. "But you'd look silly carrying around your shield everywhere. Not terribly subtle." He pointed at Bucky. "Design me something, JARVIS and I will put it together, something that's easier for you both to carry around."

Bucky jabbed his thumb in Steve's direction. "Maybe something for him. I like my Beretta."

Steve sighed in his general direction, but didn't say anything on the subject, instead, steering the conversation away. "We're ready, Tony. Let's go bother Bruce."

Tony got up off the couch. "Absolutely," he said, and headed for the door. "JARVIS, lock up after us." Something he didn't really have to say, JARVIS did that automatically anyway, but it obviously made him happy to order an artificial intelligence that he designed to obey him around, so Bucky didn't make a comment about it.

"Are you sure Bruce isn't busy?" Steve asked as they got to the elevators.

"Nope," Tony said. "But he likes me, unless it's really busy, he'll make time for us. Besides, it's not even nine in the morning, it can't possibly be that busy yet." He eyed Steve. "You two are the most likely to need his services around here anyway. I stay out of trouble." His face contorted slightly like something occurred to him. "Well, your personal guardians might need the medical center as often, if they follow you into trouble."

"Sharon said they were never able to follow us on jobs," Steve said as the elevator arrived on their floor and they stepped onto it.

"Good," Tony said. "JARVIS, medical center, if you please."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said, and the doors closed, the elevator coming to life and taking them down a handful of floors.

Tony was silent as the numbers ticked by, until the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "This way, gentlemen." He led them down the hall, past a lobby and several open examination rooms that made Bucky incredibly uncomfortable, past rooms marked x-ray with warnings about the dangers, past rooms marked radiology centers, more lobbies with waiting rooms, a room marked lab, and further through the medical center to what looked like a secured area that required a scan to get through. The doors opened for them without Tony doing anything, and Bucky heavily suspected JARVIS in that.

The building was bigger than Bucky had realized, having not really gone out to explore beyond areas he needed. Eventually they came to what was marked "Banner Only" which Bucky had a feeling made Bruce feel tired all over, but Tony had insisted.

The room that door led them into was big, set up as a lab and exam room in one. "Welcome to the Avengers' personal medical center," Tony said. "Hey, Bruce!"

Bruce poked his head out from around a corner, much lower down than Bucky thought he'd be. "Oh, uh, hi, Tony." He nodded at Steve and Bucky. "Captain, Bucky." He wheeled on a somewhat short stool. Ah, that's why he seemed short. He got up and walked over to them, holding out his hand to Bucky. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

Bucky took his hand. "Same," he said, then looked around. "This is all yours?"

Bruce sighed, taking off his glasses and giving Tony that 'tired all over' look that Bucky was expecting him to have. "It belongs to the Avengers," he said. "I just happen to be the Avengers' personal doctor. His idea to mark the door like that. Nurses come in and help me, obviously, if something happens. It hasn't been necessary yet, but it's only a matter of time with this group." He smiled. "Especially now that two mercenaries with somewhat regular work have joined us."

Steve grinned. "We don't tend to get too beat up," he said. "Some bumps and scrapes, nothing we need a doctor for."

Bruce put his glasses back on. "You never know," he said. He motioned for them to follow him further into the lab. "I, uh, I'll show you around, if you want." He looked at Tony. "You don't need a tour."

Tony looked offended. "And you think I would want to be left behind? Surely you jest, Doctor Banner."

Bruce sighed, shaking his head with a smile that proved he wasn't quite as exasperated as he was pretending to be. "Come on," he said, leading the three of them around. He pointed out a few machines that he'd developed with the help of Tony and a few other engineers that could dedicate more time than Tony could. There were exam areas, a surgical center- two, actually -and an area where it was clear that Bruce worked on developing medicines.

"I've been analyzing the chemicals used on you," he said, looking at Bucky. "I hope you don't mind, I moonlight as a biochemist. I'm mostly a doctor and a biophysicist that specializes in radioactive elements, but I do some work in this area. Lets me control what medicines do to my patients."

"Impressive laundry list," Bucky said. "What the hell kind of degree did you get to pull all that off?"

Bruce looked vaguely amused. "You know, most people around here don't ask for the specifics, they pretty much just settle on 'he's a smart guy'. But to answer your question, I double majored in biology and physics, then entered a program that let me get my PhD and MD at the same time for medical research. I was interested in trying to replicate the super soldier serum. Didn't work out so well, but it means I know a few things here and there."

If Bucky didn't know better, he'd almost swear that Tony was related to Bruce and was playing the proud big brother with how he was smiling. "He's my all-purpose science buddy."

There was that faint shake of a head and a smile that said Bruce was as amused as he was tired from Tony's antics. "What about you?" Bruce asked Bucky. "The only thing we know about you is that you're a soldier."

"I was a weapons designer for Stark Industries before the war," Bucky said, sticking his hands in his pockets. He nodded his head towards Tony. "You should've seen how that busted his brain when he found out."

Bruce chuckled. "I can imagine." Then he tilted his head. "What degree would that be? Something in engineering, I'm sure."

"Chemical engineering," Bucky said. When Tony and Bruce slowly looked at each other, Bucky suddenly knew what a lamb might feel in front of a pack of wolves. "What?"

"Chemistry?" Bruce's eyebrows raised.

"And engineering?" Tony looked like a pleased evil villain. "Bruce, I think we found our new best friend. Someone who can bridge our work!"

Steve groaned. "Thank you, now I'll be surrounded by science I can't keep up with, even in my own home."

Bucky didn't have to try hard to not laugh at Steve's expense, too busy trying to duck the predation of Tony and Bruce. "Guys, my degree is about eighty years out of date."

"We can catch you up," Tony said. "You both need to take some college classes, get some degrees. You can't stay mercenaries forever, you don't want to wander around without a proper, up to date degree."

Steve huffed in annoyance. "Well, I saw that one coming. And where exactly are we supposed to go to get these degrees? We're supposed to stay here for safety."

"There's some good schools nearby," Tony said. "We'll think of something. That's for later, though. We have a new playmate."

"Can I point out again that my degree is eighty years out of date?"

Before Tony said anything, Bruce, bless that man, cut in. "We'll work on that later," he said. "While I have you here, I'd like to at least mention the chemicals that were used on you. I'll need blood samples to get a better idea of what they did besides the similar physical effects as the super soldier serum, if you don't mind, but I won't force you to subject yourself to needles that aren't strictly medically necessary."

Bucky had almost rankled, sheerly as a knee jerk reaction, but Bruce's assurance that he wouldn't force it eased his nerves a bit. He took a couple breaths before answering. "Will it help make sure they didn't damage anything?"

"It should," Bruce said. "I make no guarantees, though. Those chemicals they used are beyond anything I've actually seen, so it'll be hard to tell. But I'll do my best."

Bucky considered that, shoving back his aversion to needles. "Some other time, but okay."

Bruce smiled. "I didn't mean right this minute, unless you wanted to just get it over with." He glanced at Steve. "I wouldn't mind a sample from you. The sample the SSR got from you right after the experiment didn't yield anything for them, but our science has improved since then, I might be able to tell more than they did, like how permanent it is. It seems to be so far, but I don't think we want any DNA breakdowns at the wrong time."

Steve looked a bit nervous at the prospect. "We'll come in soon, then," he said. "But I think Bucky had plans today."

Bucky shrugged. "Just a run down to the lower east side," he said. "Other than that, I'm free."

Bruce cocked his head to the side a bit. "What's down there?"

"A homeless shelter I'm volunteering at," Bucky said. "Or at least, I'm applying to."

"Good cause to work for," Bruce said. He looked at Tony, an amused look on his face. "You influenced him this year," he said. "The charity ball this year is raising money for the Humane Society."

While Tony shot both of them glares, Bucky laughed. "He told me."

Steve smothered a laugh of his own. "Really?"

"Don't say it, Spangles," Tony said. "You're showing up at children's hospitals in a patriotic uniform that you really need to replace. How old is that thing?"

"Uh." Steve frowned, thinking. "A little over seventy years."

Tony tsked. "It needs replacing. I can have something done up. At least a remake of the original, something made of similar material as your partner's uniform, something that'll be more useful."

"I'll consider it," Steve said. "I think the Smithsonian probably would appreciate the original back for their display. It's a bit beat up from the last time they had it, though."

"That makes it more valuable," Tony said, waving a hand dismissively. "It has more history to it now. Speaking of the Smithsonian, have you heard that they're planning a revamp to include the Winter Soldier in the Captain America exhibit?"

Bucky took in a deep breath and held it, counting to three silently before releasing it. "That's nice," he said. "I'm not giving any interviews."

"They might ask," Tony said. "They'll want information, especially since I doubt the government's going to give the public that full file, most definitely not to the Smithsonian." He looked thoughtful for a second. "There's no way the government will release that information at all, not when someone could theoretically duplicate the experiment, if they can dissect the chemicals and build the required machines. Nobody wants that."

There was a wonderful thought. The idea of someone making another Winter Soldier wasn't sitting well on Bucky's stomach. "Good luck," he said, forcing more confidence than he felt. "The only reason I was able to survive the first phases of the project was because of what Zola did in forty-three. And there's no records of that. They'd have to start with someone already experimented on, and hopefully with the right chemicals."

Actually, the truth of that statement soothed his nerves a bit.

Tony made a distracted noise that might've been agreement, might've been dissent, but was probably just a vague acknowledgement. "Either way, I don't think anyone having that information is good. We'll work on getting it out of their hands."

"We'll leave that to you," Steve said. "If it were just the physical records, we could get it ourselves, but if they don't have at least one digital copy now, I'll be very surprised. That might require more computer work than either of us are good at."

"Too bad it wouldn't be as easy as Kiev was," Tony said. "Just waltz in and take it."

"I'd rather not do another Kiev," Steve said. "You might've thought it wasn't so difficult, but you didn't see how big that group was before you got there."

"So you said," Tony said. "And you two still frighten me."

Before anyone could make a response to that, there was a beeping from the rough proximity of Bruce's wrist. He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a watch that Bucky had a feeling was far more than a regular watch. "I hate to shoo everyone away so quickly, but I have an appointment that just showed up." He looked at Tony. "I am not about to be bored all day, alone in a lab, when there are people here who could use a flu shot or a bottle of cough syrup to get through the day."

Tony shrugged, drawing back ever so slightly, clearly making a point of not arguing with Bruce in a way that suggested he didn't even have to make that point in the first place. "By all means, Doctor Banner, go tend to the sick and injured."

"Excuse me," Bruce said, slipping past the three of them and heading out of the set of rooms that Tony had dedicated to his personal use.

Tony pointed at Bucky. "You, I have some texts for you to read now, start catching you up with the twenty-first century's advances in chemical sciences. With your familiarity with modern weapons, I doubt we need to educate you in the engineering side, but we'll start somewhere."

Bucky gave that finger a look like he might bite it if it didn't move. Since Tony was fearless in some ways, Bucky assumed that finger wasn't moving, so he switched his gaze from the finger in his face to Tony. "Later," he said. "I want to get down to that shelter before it gets too crazy in that area."

"Fair enough." The finger was dropped. "I need to look through what you should read, send it to your tablet. You'll have plenty to do for awhile."

Bucky looked at Steve. "I'm sorry. I think I just got pulled into the Geek Squad."

Steve sighed. "It's fine. It'll be nice to see you get back into something besides fiction, history, and how many ways can we fulfill a contract that leaves behind the most dead bad guys."

Bucky shrugged. "Everyone needs a hobby."

"You need more," Steve said.

"Yes, Mother," Bucky said. "Am I free to go do my errand now?"

Steve looked at Tony, who just shook his head, staying out of it, then looked back at Bucky. "What, you're leaving me alone with him?"

"Hey!" Tony sounded offended.

"Deal with it," Bucky said. "I'm taking the work phone, since I know you can't stand the idea of me not being able to stay in touch if I'm out alone."

"I don't want to hear it, you make me walk around armed if I don't have you around," Steve said.

Tony intervened with one of those theatrical sighs he was so good at. "Okay, original odd couple, no marital fights in the medical center. I have thoroughly derailed your morning, mission accomplished. I have a new mission, so I will free you two to go squabble in private."

"How generous," Bucky said.

The three men parted ways, or rather, Steve and Bucky parted ways with Tony, and then further parted ways after Bucky had pulled on his coat and grabbed their work cell and some money for the cab. He told Steve to occupy his time with Sharon or something useful. Steve told him to get his ass in gear and get the hell out.

Bucky felt a little strange being out on his own; he really hadn't been left alone for a long time. There was usually someone at least relatively nearby for extraction when he was working with Hydra, and Steve only really left him alone at the apartment when he was working with Sam at the VA until they went into the mercenary business, and then they were only separated during missions when it was required, and never for long. Other than Steve sometimes running out on errands, they weren't usually far apart, just like in the field. There was only one relatively recent time he'd been left alone, and that was when he was living on the streets.

Well, at least he knew what it was like for the men he was hoping to help, being separated from all sources of support, without their buddies to keep them going.

The snow that had been so calming earlier was becoming annoying, falling a little heavier, and slushing up the streets, the traffic regular enough to keep it somewhat melting and well-traveled. Pedestrians were keeping the sidewalks equally ugly-looking. What joy it was to walk out in the winter weather. It was nice while inside with a big picture window to watch out of, but, as it turned out, it wasn't so fun to have to be out in.

Bucky paid for the cab once they'd reached the shelter and got out, tugging up his hood and pulling his scarf up over his nose. He wasn't going to be out in the wind long, but he had no idea how well heated the shelter was.

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust from the almost blinding sunlight outside to the much dimmer inside lights of the shelter, and he blinked a couple times, clearing his vision. He studied the shelter. It looked like it amounted to all of one room, maybe two from the view from the front door; a kitchen at the far back that had an open serving window, with some very large, cafeteria-like tables near it, and the rest of the room from there almost all the way to the entrance were beds, some bunk beds, most just single beds. None of them looked nicer than a cheap dorm room bed, and they all sported a large number at the foot, starting with low numbers near the front. They lined the walls, leaving a large walkway between the two sides.

There were supposed to be a hundred and thirty-six beds. A quick count proved that wrong by one- number one thirty-six was missing, or rather, one of the ones in the middle. Of course it'd be off in the red instead of one heavy.

There were workers back in the kitchen, but it was otherwise empty. One spotted him, peering out from across the room into the harsh light he'd let in behind him until the door slammed shut behind him. "I'm sorry, sir, but we're just cleaning up from breakfast, the shelter's not going to be open to select a bed until this evening at five," she called from the kitchen.

Bucky pulled down his scarf. "I'm here to apply to volunteer, actually."

"Oh, bless you," she said. She said something to the other woman and who looked like a young man, maybe just out of his teen years, that were working with her, then left his view, coming out of a door off in the corner a bit. He noticed there was another door in the other corner, and he had a feeling that one probably led to the bathrooms and showers.

The woman that bustled towards him was a redhead, and he wondered why there were suddenly so many redheads in his life- Maggie was a redhead, so was Natasha, and there'd been that MP at Fort Meade. And his brother had been partners with a redhead. It was an eerie pattern that was starting to creep him out. She held out her hand. "Jennie Brennan. Welcome to Cohen Mercy Mission, Mister..?"

"James Barnes," he said, taking her hand, keeping his grip light in case she wanted to yank her hand away if she happened to click the association of his name to his face, both of which had been plastered in the news a lot since shortly before Thanksgiving.

Jennie stopped and studied him, but didn't withdraw her hand. "That James Barnes, or is this another common case of a New Yorker thinking they just met a celebrity?"

Well, she wasn't scared off, that was a point in her favor. He shrugged, trying to smile disarmingly. "No thinking involved this time. I'm the real one. If you think that'd cause a problem with me volunteering, lemme know now."

She shook her head, finally dropping her hand. "No, not at all, Mister Barnes. It's nice to see a vet coming in to help us out. Especially one who got abandoned for so long. It'd be very easy for you to turn your back on anything to do with the military."

He shook his head slightly. "I didn't get abandoned. And even if I had been, that doesn't mean these guys should be."

Jennie smiled. "I'm glad to hear that, no matter who says it." She turned, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, we'll get you an application. Personally, I think your service to the country is enough, but if nothing else, we need your availability."

Bucky followed her, counting the beds as they went by. "What happened to number fifty-three?"

She paused and looked at the empty space, then looked back at him. "The frame broke from the force of a particularly drunk gentleman masturbating. The mattress is getting replaced. We won't make anyone sleep in that."

"Ah." What else was he supposed to say to that?

Jennie looked amused. "Did that make you uncomfortable?"

He hesitated. "I'm still not used to those subjects coming up in mixed company. Social graces have changed since I was around." He cleared his throat. "That doesn't happen often, does it?"

"Oh no," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the tables before resuming walking. "It happens sometimes, but it's not a common thing, no. Most guys, they're so tired and cold from being out on the streets that they get in here, they get a hot meal in them, they lay down on a real bed, with a real pillow and real blankets, in a heated room, and they pretty much just pass out. It's mostly quiet at night. But incidents like that do happen, and since some of the staff is female, we prefer having some security around."

"That's what I was hoping to hear," he said. "I don't know how good I'd be anywhere else, but I'm good at security details."

"Then that's where I'll put you."

"You're in charge?"

Jennie raised an eyebrow at him. "Were you expecting an older man?"

Bucky frowned. "No, not necessarily. I wasn't sure what to expect." He looked around, looking for signs of religious paraphernalia. Most homeless shelters he'd encountered were church-run, which was fine, but he was surprised to find not one single crucifix or picture of Jesus. "Is this a religious shelter?"

"Hm?" Jennie stopped at a table, looking at him. "No, not really. My father and I founded this place about twenty-five years ago, and we did it based on our beliefs, but we knew that so many vets in these positions feel like God's abandoned them that trying to force them to take a Bible and attend a morning service wasn't going to help them. It's much better to show Jesus's love than to talk about it." She tilted her head. "Is that a problem?"

"What? No." He shook his head. "I just spent some time on the streets in DC, and I hadn't found any that hadn't been run by a church or religious organization. Kinda surprised to see one that isn't, that's all."

She smiled. "Even atheists need a warm bed and a good meal. Here." She pulled out a chair for him. "Sit, I'll go get you an application. It's formality; as far as I'm concerned, you're already one of our volunteers, I just need to know what nights you're available. Security is an all-night job, just so you know. If that's not workable for you, we can put you in the kitchen, or on cleaning. With it being the Christmas season, we actually have enough kitchen staff, though."

"Security's fine. I don't have a regular day job, so I can afford to change my sleep schedule a bit." He sat down, glancing around again.

"Good. I'll be right back." She walked around the tables and through the door she'd come out of earlier.

Bucky watched the other two kitchen workers, or at least, the two he could see, but he heard sounds of others, dishes clanking and cupboards slamming shut. The other woman, a scrawny and elderly black woman, kept right on working as if he weren't even there. She worked around so many guys who crawled in on the streets, she had no reason to give him a second look, especially not when other than the fact that his pants were clean and he was, at the moment, shaven, he probably looked like a lot of the guys that came in, a rather scruffy old coat and scarf, and hair that was probably a bit messy from the hood it'd been flattened under.

With that thought, he made a half-hearted attempt at taming anything that had decided to stick up when his hood was pulled back.

The younger man was watching him while trying to clean a large pot, or maybe trying to watch him while cleaning the pot. One way or another. He looked like maybe he was Native, or at least in part, with thick black hair he wore long. Bucky raised an eyebrow slightly at him, and the man stopped pot scrubbing, raising an eyebrow right back. Bucky grinned, pleased that the man wasn't being off-put by him. The man smiled in return, then went back to his work.

Jennie returned a few minutes later, after Bucky had started tapping his finger on the table, the metal not making its usual noise, muffled by his glove. He straightened as she sat down across from him, sliding a piece of paper over and a pen.

"You can ignore the top part," she said. "You're already hired, or would be, if we weren't a volunteer organization. I just need you to fill in the calendar. We go on a month by month basis, so around the twenty-eighth, we'll ask you if you're going to stay on past the holidays, and if you are, to fill out a calendar for January as best as you can. I know work schedules can be a bit difficult to plan for, especially for contract workers like yourself."

He grabbed the pen, looking at the calendar and the instructions for how to fill it out. It was simple, just mark an 'x' over the days he couldn't work, an 'm' for morning only, an 'e' for evening only, neither of which were relative for him, since he would be doing an all night job. "What kind of a tight spot would it leave you guys in if a contract came in on a day I'm scheduled?"

Jennie smiled a bit sadly. "Honestly, it wouldn't be good, but we don't have only one person around at night, so we could live. And we have a few volunteers who are on-call that we can ask to cover. Work comes first, you can't help the homeless if you're not bringing in your own income so you don't join them."

Bucky made a thoughtful noise, x-ing out the nineteenth. "I'm not sure what's going on with Christmas Eve and Christmas yet," he said. "I can do one or the other, but I'm not sure which. I haven't talked to my brother about what day he wants to come visit."

"Understandable," she said. "Just let me know as soon as you can. Or, if he wants, he can come join you here. It can be a new family tradition." She didn't look serious about that, a coy smile on her face.

He couldn't help but return that smile. "My brother is an eighty some year old retired vet. He probably doesn't have enough patience to put up with both my sorry self and these guys at the same time."

"What war did he fight in?" she asked, that coy smile turning more serious.

"He was a Navy boy in Korea," Bucky said, sliding the pen and paper back over to her. "Which means he did diddly squat, except shooting at supply boats now and again."

Jennie took the pen and paper, looking over the calendar. "And I bet you don't let him forget it," she said, a bit distracted. "You have open availability for every day except the nineteenth and a question mark on Christmas and Christmas Eve. Are you sure you want to work that much?"

"In the name of not completely switching to a night schedule, I should probably say don't put me every night, but you can always put me on the nights you need me the most, and on-call for the other nights."

"Then that's what we'll do," she said, and held out her hand. "Thank you, Mister Barnes. I'll give you a call when I've got the schedule sorted out."

Bucky took her hand. "Thank you, ma'am."


	8. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He may have been a mercenary with little concept of mercy and a former assassin with none, but he still wasn't rude enough to cook and eat in front of a guest.
> 
> There were just limits.

"It's a good thing I had you take the work phone," Steve said once Bucky was home, out of his jacket and boots, and making himself another cup of hot cocoa to finish warming up from the chill outside.

"Oh?" Bucky leaned back against the counter by the stove, facing Steve to talk while the kettle heated.

"I got a call from The Daily Globe on our regular phone," Steve said, seated at the table. "They want to do a piece about my visits to the hospitals. I usually get bugged about it, they sent someone when I lived here before Loki and the Chitauri attacked here and I moved to DC."

Bucky glanced over at the kettle as it started to steam, but wasn't whistling quite yet. "I think I remember one of the DC papers doing that last year. They had you out twice, didn't they?"

The ice in Steve's glass of water clinked as he took a drink before answering. "Yeah, they wanted an interview before shadowing me at the hospital. I just made sure the interview wasn't at the apartment. I didn't want to drag attention to you that didn't need to be dragged in."

There was something in the way Steve said that that made Bucky tilt his head slightly. "And this year, the Daily Globe wants a pre-visit interview, too?"

"They do," Steve confirmed. "I can meet the reporter somewhere else. At this point, there's not much more attention you can be getting from the press, so I wasn't sure if you'd mind it here or not."

Bucky shrugged, then pulled out a mug and a packet of cocoa mix. "Here's fine," he said, prepping his mug while the kettle started whistling. "Who's the reporter?"

"Some woman named Jessica Soll?" Steve's voice didn't sound terribly confident in that. "There was a bit of static on their lines, so I might've misheard. It was a Jessica, though. She seemed excited to get to talk to me."

"Aren't most people?" Bucky asked, pouring the water. He filled it almost to the top, set the kettle aside, then dug the milk out of the fridge and added a splash to his cocoa. After returning the milk to the fridge, he grabbed a spoon and headed to the table. "Or did she seem moreso than most reporters?"

Steve shrugged modestly. "Maybe a little moreso. She acted professional, but there was a tone to her voice."

Bucky shook his head, taking a seat across from Steve. "So in other words, you have a fan that's coming to our apartment to interview you."

"It's no so bad having fans," Steve said. "You kinda get used to it."

"Mm." Bucky stirred his cocoa, letting the milk and chocolate powder mix and steam a little. "I'll let you do the getting used to thing."

Steve smiled. "You know, having and interacting with fans means more potential for dates."

Bucky scowled at him over his mug. "I'm not dating fangirls. That strikes me as a bad idea."

"Probably, but you sure aren't getting any dates the way you're going now."

Bucky's scowl did not lessen as he took a sip of his cocoa, then set the mug down, careful to not slam it down in annoyance and spill cocoa all over the place. "Steve, schedule that interview, instead of trying to find me a date."

"I'm multitasking," Steve said, grabbing his phone. "We don't have anything pressing before the nineteenth, do we?"

"Just our fittings on the fifteenth," Bucky said. "When are you planning on visiting the hospitals?"

"The twenty-first," Steve said. "And I'm only hitting three that day. The others said they were able to get other celebrities to come in. There's a lot of us here in New York, so plenty to go around. Which is good, there's a lot of children's hospitals and pediatric wards in town, it'd be hard for me to hit them all."

One corner of Bucky's lips quirked up. "And you'd try if you could. You're a bleeding heart, Steve."

"I don't want to hear it, Mister Rescues Kittens."

Bucky decided to not dignify that one. "So which places you going to?"

Steve thought for a second like he might be trying to remember. "Mount Sinai, St. John's, and the pediatric ward at Sloan Kettering."

"And which one of those is the one that didn't want you bringing me along?" Bucky asked. "Because I know you did what I told you and decided not to disappoint the kids."

Steve huffed in annoyance. "St. John's, and yes, you're right, I did, but you don't have to rub it in."

Bucky smiled smugly at him. "I do too. It's my job." He glanced up at their clock, the digital numbers reading ten forty-five. "Call that reporter, set up an interview. If she's got the time, make it this afternoon. The sooner it's over with, the sooner I can go back to not letting anyone in here that's not already part of the group." Then he looked back at Steve. "And after you're done with the phone, I need it. I need to call Peter, figure out when the hell he wants to come up here."

Steve pulled the phone out of his back pocket and handed it over to Bucky. "Here, call him first. I'm going to go look at our calendar, see when else that reporter might be able to come over if she can't this afternoon."

Bucky took the phone, staring at its display a moment while he recalled his brother's number, then tapped in the number and hit send. He waited through two rings before Peter's voice said "hello?" on the other end.

"Good morning, Petey boy," Bucky said, complete with an asshole grin that while Peter couldn't see it, Steve could, who looked over from grabbing his laptop and laughed.

"Bucky." Peter's voice sounded like he might be forced to commit fratricide. "Call me that again, and I will drive up there and kick you in the shin."

Bucky laughed. "What, you don't like being called that?"

"I never liked that name," Peter growled. "Try not being an asshole to your brother during the Christmas season. You might accidentally _not_ get a lump of coal in your stocking."

Bucky couldn't help another giggle or two, although he'd _never_ admit they were giggles. "Peter, I am owed several lumps of coal at this point, I figure another one won't hurt. But, speaking of Christmas," Bucky said, deciding to stop teasing his brother and be serious for a moment. "Tony's promised to bring you up with bells on for the holiday. I can't do both Christmas Eve and Christmas, the Avengers are doing something one of those days."

Peter made a noise like he was thinking. "The family usually gets together for lunch and the evening on Christmas, so I suppose Christmas Eve would work better." There was the briefest of pauses, brief enough that Bucky didn't have a chance to answer before Peter was speaking again. "I don't suppose I can convince you to come meet the family in person, instead of me coming up there?"

Bucky sighed. "No, you can't. I'd rather not spend my Christmas afternoon surrounded by strangers who are going to spend the whole time acting like I'm some sort of celebrity instead of a family member that's just not been there for awhile. I'd rather be around people who aren't going to treat me any differently than anyone else."

"Mm. I wouldn't be able to stop the younger ones from doing that," Peter admitted. "All right, then if Mister Stark can arrange it, I wouldn't mind coming up for the early part of the day on Christmas Eve. I have to be back for the evening church service, though."

Bucky blinked. "Church? When did you convert?"

"Around the time you died," Peter said. "I was wanting to believe there'd be an afterlife I'd get to see you in again, and I found a church that didn't mind a gay man in their pews."

Bucky didn't know what to say at first. He'd grown up with a Christian best friend, his brother being among the faithful didn't bother him, but the idea that Peter had converted specifically to see Bucky in Heaven or wherever didn't sit particularly well with him. He didn't want to be the one responsible for making or breaking someone's faith. "Honestly, Peter, if there is a god, you're not going to be seeing me in his Heaven. Not with the whole 'have to be a believer' thing as the ticket in."

"I can have faith," Peter said. "Don't let it worry you, you believe what you like, and I will believe what I like. It's called living in harmony, I think more people should do it."

Bucky glanced at Steve, who was giving him an odd look, apparently just as surprised as Bucky, although he was only getting one side of the conversation. "Quite frankly, little brother, if people lived in harmony like what you're wanting, I'd be out a job. But you know I'm not going to say anything against your beliefs. I've spent how many years around Steve now?"

"I know," Peter said. "On the subject, is Steve still Catholic?"

"No," Bucky said. "Why?"

"If he's looking for a new church to attend, I can recommend my denomination."

"I don't know if he is. I'll hand the phone over, you can ask him yourself. I'm not playing carrier pigeon in a conversation you can have yourself."

"After we're done talking," Peter said. "Unless you're already done with me."

Bucky frowned slightly. "No, not unless you want me to be. The subject's not a conversation ender, Peter. It just surprised me, that's all. But then, you love throwing surprises at me."

Peter chuckled. "Well, you were absent a long time, things happen."

That frown didn't disappear, instead, it deepened, and Bucky found himself looking down at his cooling mug of what was left of his cocoa. "I know. I didn't mean to be."

"I wasn't accusing, Bucky," Peter said. "Stop sounding so down. It's the Christmas season, be happy and full of good will. And I already have your present. So it'd better cheer you up."

"Goddamnit, Peter, why'd you do that? I don't know what to get you."

Peter laughed in his ear. "Bucky, having you alive is the best present I could get for the rest of my life. Just have me over for Christmas Eve, we'll have lunch, I'll be more than happy with that."

"That's not fair," Bucky complained. "I didn't have to do anything to get you that."

"If it bothers you that much, I like books as much as you do. Find me something."

Bucky blew out a pointed and frustrated puff of air into the phone. "I don't know what you've read or not."

Peter sounded way too amused for his own safety and well-being. "Then cook me lunch when I get there. You always made a good roast duck."

"Okay, that I can do," Bucky said. "What time should I tell Tony to have you here by?"

Peter was silent a second. "Well, if we have lunch early, and I want to be back no later than five, maybe around ten? Give us a bit of time before the food's ready."

"I'll let Tony know," Bucky said. "Here, I'll let you talk to Steve. I'd talk longer, but Steve has an appointment to make, and I have to make another call after he's done. We're getting a bit busy around here."

"Good, you get into trouble when you're bored," Peter said. "Lemme talk to Steve."

Bucky handed the phone out for Steve. "My brother wants to talk church with you," he said.

Steve looked even more confused than he had before, but he took the phone. "Hi, Peter. Hm? No, I haven't really been looking. Why? Well, I won't turn down the suggestion. UCC? What's that stand for? Mm. I'll look into them. Thanks. Do I need to hand the phone back over? Okay, just a second. It was nice to talk to you again. We're seeing you on Christmas Eve, it sounds like? Good, see you then. Here's Bucky." He handed the phone back over silently, then focused his attention on his laptop.

Bucky took the phone. "I thought I told you that we have other calls to make," he said, not at all seriously scolding his brother.

He could all but hear the grin on Peter's face. "What, I can't say goodbye to my big brother before hanging up the phone? I love you, you big jackass."

"I love you too, Peter. I'll see you on Christmas Eve."

They said their good byes, and hung up. Bucky handed the phone over to Steve. "Here, call that reporter."

Steve took the phone. "Who was it you had to call after that?" he asked.

"That shelter," Bucky said. "I told the woman in charge that I'd call when I knew what the plans for Christmas Eve and Christmas are so she knows when to schedule me." Steve held out the phone for him, but Bucky shook his head. "Find out when the reporter can come over. I'm working overnight, I don't like the idea of trying to sleep while a stranger's here."

"Fair enough," Steve said, taking back the phone and scrolling through what Bucky assumed was the call log to get the number for the paper back.

Bucky listened half-heartedly, watching the snow outside still falling. It wasn't at blizzard levels, but it was still accumulating, and Bucky could only imagine what it was going to be like overnight for the people in the streets. He hadn't realized just how lucky he was that it'd been one of the warm months when he had to spend his own time out there.

"All right. See you then," Steve said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Good-bye."

"What did you decide?" Bucky asked.

"We're good for this afternoon," Steve said, setting the phone down on the table between them. "Do you want to participate, or hide away in the bedroom while I come up with excuses? I'll need to start thinking now if you want me to come up with something good."

"Steve, you could be thinking from now 'til eternity and still not have come up with a good lie. Get over it."

Steve looked grumpy. "I've managed to not be completely obvious in the past," he said.

"Only when someone's safety is on the line," Bucky said. "And since the only thing that might be on the line here is a bit of social discomfort, you're not going to be coming up with anything this time."

Steve pointed at the phone. "There's the phone, make your call and let me pretend to be insulted in peace."

"One of these days, you're going to stop pretending," Bucky said, ignoring the phone for the moment to look up the number for the shelter. There'd probably be no one there right now, the shelter closed until dinner time, when they'd open their doors to the first one hundred and thirty-six people who showed up. One hundred and thirty-five that night, unless they were able to replace that one bed, which he wasn't sure they'd be able to so quickly.

But he could leave a voicemail, letting Jennie know that he could work Christmas Eve. He'd reserve Christmas for the Avengers, if Tony decided to make them do anything together.

As he expected, once he'd gotten the number dialed in and let it ring, he was taken to voicemail, so he left a message, hung up, and set the phone back down on the table. "What time is the reporter coming over?"

"Two-thirty," Steve said. "So we have some time before she's here." He glanced over his shoulder at the living area. "Sometimes I wish we were messy people just so we'd have cleaning to keep us occupied when we're waiting for guests."

Bucky stared at him flatly. "If you want to go fling around pillows and books or something, be my guest, but I'm not helping you clean up."

Steve stayed halfway around in his seat, but turned his head to look at Bucky. "What, you want to sit there bored?"

Bucky grabbed his tablet. "I have books to read. And I'll cook lunch in a couple hours. If you want something to clean, you can clean up after that. Grab a book or something. Or go find weird things on the internet. I find it entertaining."

"Yeah, I know," Steve said, sounding annoyed. "And you share it with me."

"Which is the entertaining part," Bucky said, a smile of pure evil on his face. "Maybe you can learn to fight back."

Steve didn't look terribly happy with Bucky. "I'd say that I hope Tony can figure out how to traumatize you, but I'd probably get hit in the crossfire."

"Probably," Bucky agreed. "We'd both make sure to share with you, because we care about you like that."

"You have a funny definition of caring," Steve grumbled. But he got up and went over to their bookcase, which didn't have many books on it for its size, and stared at the books.

Bucky watched him look over the titles for about thirty seconds before making an aggravated noise. "Pick one, Steve."

"I'm looking," Steve said. "It's weird, I'm used to seeing more books."

"You're not seeing fewer books, the bookshelf's bigger than our old one," Bucky said. "Just grab whatever you'd been reading before."

"I finished that one," Steve said, still looking. "I need more books. This bookshelf is too empty."

Bucky groaned, folding his arms on the table and resting his head on them. "Steve, for god's sake, just pick a book. You're being annoying."

"Nobody said you had to watch me," Steve said.

Bucky lifted his head when the sound of a book hitting the table startled him. He looked at it as Steve sat down. "To Kill A Mockingbird. I heard that was a good one."

Steve picked up the book. "So have I. I've had it for awhile, just hadn't read it yet. Then things went crazy, and I didn't have the chance."

"Mm." Bucky sat up, grabbing his tablet. "Should've grabbed it when we left DC, I guess."

"I figured I had my sketchbook and pencils," Steve said. "I was wondering what you planned on doing."

"My plans hadn't included reading the same few chapters over and over again," Bucky admitted, scrolling through his books. He hadn't purchased any new ones, although he'd really wanted to buy the Dresden Files books. But Peter had told him in no uncertain terms that getting those books for Bucky was his job. At that point in the month, Bucky would probably be waiting for Christmas to get the next one.

Which meant he had to find something new to read.

He decided to take a hint from Steve and downloaded a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. He set an alarm on his tablet to interrupt him when it was lunch time. He tended to disappear past meal time when he was reading, and they had company coming over after lunch. He may have been a mercenary with little concept of mercy and a former assassin with none, but he still wasn't rude enough to cook and eat in front of a guest.

There were just limits.

The morning passed quietly. At about eleven forty-five, he set aside his tablet and made lunch- hot ham and turkey sandwiches, a potato salad he'd made the day before that was still good, and Steve's damn Doritos. Bucky took delight in grabbing one of his snack cakes for after his meal.

Steve cleaned the kitchen after the skillet had cooled enough to be handled, leaving them another hour and a half before the reporter got there. Another 'hurry up and wait' until a deadline hit. Bucky was really getting sick of that. It was about as bad as having absolutely no deadline and falling into extreme boredom. They really needed to get a job, and soon. Bucky was getting a little stir-crazy.

At two twenty-two, JARVIS interrupted their reading. "Excuse me, sirs, but there is a Miss Jessica Soll here to see you. Shall I let her up?"

"Please, JARVIS," Steve said, marking his book. "We're expecting her."

Bucky turned off his tablet, and took it and Steve's laptop to the bookcase, right behind Steve with his book. Once the book was shelved, Bucky tucked the laptop and the tablet onto one of the bottom two shelves, cupboard doors hiding the cords that accompanied the electronics, and shut the doors.

Both of them tugged on their shoes- boots, in Bucky's case -once at the door. Neither felt comfortable going around in stocking feet with a stranger in their home, and they were equally disinclined to invite said stranger to take her own shoes off.

The clock read two twenty-four when there was a knock on the door. Bucky backed away, around the corner a bit and towards the table, choosing to not crowd the poor woman right at the door with two superhero-types, one of whom was recently a wanted criminal. That might be a bit much for her poor heart.

Bucky heard the door open, and Steve's voice start to say hello, and then pause. "Bucky?" He sounded somewhere between shocked and amused. "I think there's an old friend at the door."

Frowning, Bucky walked back over to the front entryway, stopping and staring at the auburn-haired woman with thick-rimmed glasses, and an excited smile on her face.

She held out her hand. "Jessica Soll, from the Daily Globe. Can I come in?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but took her hand. "I thought you were an independent writer in DC," he said.

Her smile managed to widen. "My articles about you landed me a job here in Manhattan," she said. "My girl and I are finally making it. And I have you to thank."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. "And you thought nothing good came of that mess," Steve said.

"I never said that," Bucky said, stepping back to let her in. "My brother found me."

Steve closed the door behind Jessica, and Bucky heard the distinct click of JARVIS locking it. "So, Miss Soll, it's nice to see you again. Sorry I didn't speak to you last time, parking on the street in front of the door wasn't allowed by our former landlord." He stepped past her. "Make yourself at home. You can sit at either the table or on the couches."

"If you don't mind, I'll take the couch. It's better for an interview if everyone's comfortable." She took the invitation, pausing between the couches before taking a seat on the end of the one with the back to the door.

Bucky had to give a mental thumbs up for her, choosing to let the hosts have the vantage of the front door. And for giving two mercenaries the feeling of security at being able to watch the entrance. With all the work she did about superheroes, Bucky would be surprised if the thought of security hadn't been behind her decision.

Either way, he approved.

Steve sat down on the end of the other couch closest to Jessica, and Bucky chose to lean on the back of the couch, on Steve's other side, arms crossed and his weight on his them.

Jessica set her purse down next to her and pulled out a recorder that looked nicer than the one she'd had tucked under her glove back in DC. It almost looked like a much smaller version of the cell phones that had predated the flip phone, but came after the much larger phones that the internet frequently referred to as 'bricks'.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, trying to see if there was any evidence of a camera on it. "There's not going to be any pictures today, are there?" He sincerely hoped not.

She shook her head. "No, just an interview." She smiled. "There's no camera on this, it's just an audio recorder." She held it up, flipping it back and forth for his inspection. "See? No lens." She looked at Steve. "I should ask before we get to that point, though. You are okay with pictures on the day of the visits, right? If not, I will tell my photographer when I get back to the office that he'll have to come up with another reason for us to get to work with you."

"I'm fine with that," Steve said. "I figured there'd be pictures. Before you fire up the recorder, mind if I ask you a question?"

Jessica sat back, her recorder in her hands, and Bucky almost wondered if she hadn't hit the record button anyway, but he knew Steve wasn't necessarily wanting to speak off the record, just wanted to ask something outside of the interview, so he didn't say anything about it. "Absolutely, Captain Rogers."

"What did you get Bucky to tell you that got you into the Globe's sights?"

Her earlier smile was back. "I was the first to have been able to get him to confirm the news. It's one thing for everyone to have pictures and experts to nod their heads and go 'mmhm, it's genuine', but it's another to get a celebrity to admit to something controversial. I didn't have much of an interview." She glanced at Bucky. "He was rather tight-lipped. But it was still the first confirmation from either him or you."

She turned her attention back to Steve. "After they saw that, especially after his interview-dodging tactic with the bigger news groups, they looked at the rest of my stuff on superheroes, and called and offered me a job. I've been covering your disappearance and the news about Hydra almost exclusively since. When we found out that Captain America would be making his rounds at the hospitals this year, I asked for the story. I knew it'd mean I'd get to actually meet you. I hadn't exactly had a chance to talk to you before."

Steve smiled. "No, you hadn't. Don't they have anyone else doing stories on superheroes? There's a few of us around, you can't possibly handle them all."

"I'm not doing them all," she said. "My focus is on the Avengers, most notably, you two."

If it wasn't for the fact that she was a professional reporter that had to follow something or someone with her stories for her job, Bucky might've almost been creeped out by that.

"Are you covering Tony's charity ball?" Steve asked.

Jessica shook her head. "No, someone else covers that. That assignment was already given by the time I was hired. It's considered a social event." Then she tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow raising. "I think I'm supposed to be asking the questions here."

Bucky poked Steve's shoulder. "Yeah, punk, let the lady ask her questions."

Steve swatted at Bucky's hand, smacking his fingers soundly on Bucky's metal knuckles. He yelped and shook his hand, giving Bucky a glare, before turning his attention back to the reporter. "I'm sorry, Miss Soll. Please, ask your questions."

The interview went smoothly, and seemed fairly standard. Bucky had been witness to a few interviews with Steve back during the war, and been asked a few questions himself, and this wasn't terribly different from anything he'd heard before. The questions were about a different subject, but the type of questions journalists asked hadn't changed from way back when.

Near the end, she brought up a question Bucky hadn't expected, should have, and made him very glad that he'd chosen to be around for the interview.

"Are the children going to be given an appearance by both Captain America and the Winter Soldier?"

Steve took in a deep breath. "No. I'd like him to, but he has other things he's doing for the holidays."

"Things that don't involve children and possibly sue-happy parents that wouldn't like a known assassin hanging around their kids," Bucky said, without really meaning to cut in.

Jessica seemed to take that in stride. She looked up at Bucky. "I know this is tangentially related, but I'm afraid my curiosity might kill me if I don't ask. What work are you doing this year?"

Bucky almost tried to dodge the question; it was an article on Steve, even though Jessica had admitted it was personal curiosity, but then he remembered Tony's suggestion of bringing press attention to the issue, and decided to run with it. "I'm volunteering overnights at an emergency homeless shelter that deals exclusively with war veterans. Not every night, but I might be working on the twenty-first, and I wanna make sure I'm available for them and not running around in my tactical gear unnecessarily."

"I didn't realize there was a shelter that was just for veterans," she said. "Aren't there other shelters?"

Bucky kept the cynical remark he wanted to say to himself. "It's mostly families with young children in those."

She was silent, looking down at her recorder, then back up at him. "Do you think we could work in time to talk about this in an interview for you? I think it's an issue deserving attention, too."

He shook his head. "Your beat is the superhero scene. I'm not doing this as the Winter Soldier, I'm doing this as a vet who thinks it's bull that these guys are getting abandoned. If you want the issue covered in the paper, though, I can get you the number for the shelter, and the name of the woman that runs it. She can answer more of your questions, anyway."

"That would be wonderful," she said. "Since this isn't a superhero gig, I know exactly who to ask to cover this."

Bucky pushed away from the couch and went over to the bookshelf, digging into the cupboard for his tablet. He brought the number back up, then handed it off to Jessica.

She read Miss Brennan's name aloud, and the number, then handed the tablet back to Bucky. "Thank you, Mister Barnes. I'll be sure to pass this along to one of my coworkers."

"As long as nobody tries to shadow me," Bucky said. "Those guys just want to have a hot meal and sleep, they don't need the press underfoot. I'm sure Miss Brennan will give an interview when nobody's trying to sleep."

"I'll make note of that," she said, picking up the recorder and giving it a pointed shake. She turned back to Steve. "A couple more questions, if you don't mind?"

The interview had been basically almost over at that brief intercession, she only had a handful of questions left, then she turned off her recorder and stood, holding out her hand for Steve. "It's been a pleasure, Captain Rogers. I'll see you on the twenty-first, at Mount Sinai Children's Hospital. Starting at five."

He stood and shook her hand. "I'll be waiting, Miss Soll," he said, then walked her to the door. Once the reporter was gone, he looked back at Bucky. "Clever. Now Tony doesn't have to try to anonymously send someone down there."

Bucky shrugged, trying to smother a smug smile, but not having much success. "I think we got lucky that we got a Winter Soldier fangirl on this interview," he said, heading back to the table. "Some others might not have asked, or have left it alone after my first answer."

Steve grabbed his book off the bookshelf and headed for the table, where Bucky was already making himself comfortable. Steve stopped short of the table, looking at Bucky, then over to the couches. "Why do we always sit on the hard seats to read instead of on the nice couches we have?"

"Because you usually have your laptop or your sketch book nearby," Bucky said. "And you prefer a hard surface to work on for both."

"Forget that table, then," Steve said. "I have nice couches, I'm using one of them."

Bucky laughed. "Tired of the old days?"

"What, you mean the days when my kitchen chairs were comfier than my couch was?" Steve asked, settling himself down on the couch nearest the table, his back to Bucky. "Busted springs, broken supports. The cushions were better off on the floor."

"And yet, I had to convince you to throw them there," Bucky said, pulling his own copy of To Kill A Mockingbird up on his tablet.

Steve made a distracted sound, then turn his head slightly, like he was trying to look back at Bucky, but lacked the ability to pull an owl and turn his head all the way around. "That was different."

"Shut up and read, Steve," Bucky said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I snuck in Spiderman canon. :P Also, St. John's Children's Hospital is not a real hospital, that one I made up so I wasn't smearing a real place.


	9. The Need To Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "JARVIS?"
> 
> "Yes, Mister Barnes?"
> 
> "Next time Tony has a free minute, tell him I said thanks for the nice place to live."
> 
> "I will, sir."

Jennie Brennan called that evening. Bucky eyed the caller ID on the phone, taking less than a second to place it as the number of the shelter he'd dialed earlier, then answered it, leaving Steve to turn in his seat and frown at him in confusion.

"Is this Mister Barnes?" Jennie's voice asked over the phone.

"This is," he said. "You got my message, Miss Brennan?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve nod in understanding, then mostly turn back around, head still cocked to listen in.

"I did," Jennie said. "If you don't mind, since you said you could do it, I'd like you to come in on the twenty-fourth. We'll be okay here until this weekend, Saturday night. Can I count on you for that?"

Bucky looked back at the calendar they had in the kitchen for easy reference when checking expiration dates. As were most of his days, it was clear. "I can do that," he said, turning and resting one elbow on the table, his tablet momentarily abandoned. "Any other days?"

She made a thoughtful noise, like maybe she was looking over her own calendar. "Wouldn't mind having you that Monday and Tuesday, and then Friday night. You have the nineteenth crossed out, but we could certainly use you on that next Monday. And then on Christmas Eve, and then I think we'll actually be okay until the beginning of next month. If you plan on sticking around past Christmas, like I said, I'll need your availability updated for the new month."

Bucky once again looked at the calendar, mentally marking off what days those were, just to be certain. "I should be able to do all of those. If anything changes, I'll call."

"Then we'll see you on Saturday," she said. "And I hope you can be on call for the other nights?"

"I can be."

"I'll make note of that. Thank you so much, Mister Barnes. All the help we can get is appreciated."

They bid each other good bye, and he hung up. He'd almost gone back to his book- book being relative -when Steve spoke up.

"So what days are you working?" Steve asked.

"Saturday," he said. "Then Monday and Tuesday, Friday, and the Monday after Tony's charity ball. Then Christmas Eve. Might be more next month, they had most of the nights this month already covered."

Steve turned a bit more, staring in the direction the calendar. "There's a lot of potential for jobs to land in our laps during that time," he said.

Bucky shrugged. "I told her I might have to cancel last minute if a job came up, and she said they'd be okay. Tight, but they'd get by. Quite frankly, I'll be happy if nothing comes up at least until after I get to see Peter for Christmas. Then the world can go to hell and ask for our help digging it out."

"You have priorities," Steve said.

"They're good ones," Bucky said.

The days following were quiet. Steve decided to go gift shopping for Bucky on Friday, coming home with what seemed like way too much, and Bucky told him he'd better not have spent a fortune, or he'd retaliate. Steve replied with "I'd like to see you try."

Bucky's first night at the shelter was quiet. It was more accurate to say it was boring. It was sitting around, keeping watch over a bunch of sleeping guys, many getting older- Vietnam vets, according to Jennie.

He got formally introduced to the young man he'd seen when he'd gone in to apply.

"John Cooper," the young man said, shaking Bucky's hand.

"James Barnes," Bucky said.

John grinned. "Kinda figured. We heard a famous war vet was going to be helping out and some of us went crazy."

"Did that include you?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow with a jerk smile on his face.

Like before, John returned Bucky's expression match for match. "Depends on your definition of crazy." While Bucky laughed, John looked awfully proud of himself. "Does anyone outside of the Avengers manage to get the stoic Winter Soldier to laugh?"

"My brother," Bucky said. "But it's a little easier these days than it had been when I lived in DC."

"Must be nice to not be keeping such a heavy secret," John said, glancing at the front entrance. They were about fifteen minutes away from opening their doors to the vets, and there had been a helluva line when Bucky had gotten there already.

Bucky had a feeling they'd be turning some of those guys away, and he felt awful about it.

"It's helped," Bucky said. "Of course, there's still Hydra to deal with, and I think they're more pissed at me than they had been before."

"They've attacked?" John asked. "I haven't heard of anything happening in DC that would suggest them since SHIELD was taken down."

Bucky shook his head. "No, nothing so blatant. We've had a few jobs that were false calls, Hydra trying to get us into trouble. But our work against Hydra is charity, so we haven't had a problem taking them out and not getting paid for it. There's not really any lost love there."

"I can imagine," John said. He looked towards the front doors again, then checked his watch. "I need to get back to the kitchen. I'm helping you on security after the kitchen's done with me, if you can hold the fort for about twenty minutes after the meal's over."

"I can handle this bunch," Bucky assured him.

If Bucky hadn't been a former soldier and currently an enhanced mutate, he might've been exhausted by the end of the night, nothing to do but watch the sleeping men and chat quietly with John. But, morning came, breakfast was served, and the men were sent out to the cold again. There had to be a better solution in Bucky's mind, but like Tony'd said, the system was busted, and there wasn't anything any one person could do to fix it.

It was cold, but not terribly so, not enough that Bucky wasn't warm enough with his gloves and his double-layered coat when the hoodie under the Army jacket was zipped up, so he sent a text to Steve, saying he'd be home late, he wanted to walk around a bit.

He watched the men in the streets dispersing from the area of the shelter, not straying far, but hiding back in corners and into crude lean-tos that had been set up to accommodate who couldn't get into the shelter. Some of what was worn among the men didn't look half warm enough to make it through a winter in the northern latitudes. Bucky wished he had the money on hand to buy a bunch of coats for them.

He'd talk to Tony about it later, maybe get some delivered to the shelter to be handed out to those who needed them. He didn't like asking Tony for favors, not after lying to get one, but this wasn't for him, so maybe Tony would be more willing.

The crisp air was freezing his nose, and he decided it was about time to call a cab and head home, when he noticed a shop advertising Christmas wrapping and decorations across the street. They weren't in need of decorations; they preferred simple, rather than plastering the walls with lights and garland and stockings and whatever manner of things Tony could probably think of to hang up.

But wrapping paper was something Bucky would need. He saw that Steve had gotten some when he'd gone shopping, but having one kind of wrapping paper would make it confusing which present belonged to whom. He decided to at least take a look, and if nothing caught his eye, they could just be confused and have to label their gifts to each other.

He hustled across the street when the walk sign flashed at him, and gratefully stepped into the heated store and out of the cold, pulling back his hood to let the warmth defrost his ears.

There was Christmas music playing, but that had been the norm since before Thanksgiving, and while Bucky missed out on the worst of the Christmas creep, having been hiding or on the run since shortly before Thanksgiving, he was already tired of it. He couldn't imagine having to work in one of those places, hearing it eight hours a day for over a month.

The walls were painted a warm gold, with white lights decorating them, making the place look like the well-off antique store from his childhood that his grandmother would take Bucky and his siblings to whenever she visited. They never went any other time, being children uninterested in antiques, but their grandmother would make up stories to go with each item, giving them a sort of magic that their more scientifically minded household hadn't given them.

But while the inside of the store reminded him of the antique store, there were no antiques to be found. Just wreaths, trees, lights, garland, ornaments of every shape and color and oh god, there really were black ornaments out there. Bucky stared at them a moment, then moved on.

What he was interested in, though, was the wrapping paper.

There were several bins of wrapping, going gradually up in price as supposed quality went up. Most were typical, reflective silver and gold, with Santa Claus and snowmen and "season's greetings" and snow. There were a few dedicated to the Christian message of Christmas, and some aimed more at children with cartoons and toys and superheroes.

Oh, hello. Superheroes.

Bucky searched through those, having seen an Iron Man roll, hoping he'd find a roll of Captain America wrapping paper, because if he did, he was going to have to buy it and make Steve very cross with him.

He actually found several rolls of Captain America wrapping paper, including one with the Winter Soldier on it, which he promptly put back in the box. It was weird being a superhero all of a sudden.

He finally settled on a roll that was as shiny as a pile of glitter, because he knew Steve would be even more annoyed over that than over one with a dull surface.

Before getting in line, he pulled his hood back up, not wanting anyone to make a connection between the wrapping paper and him; he rarely had anyone recognize him while out and about, but putting Captain America right next to his face might make someone realize who he was, and he really wasn't in the mood for that.

The store was busy, so it was a good fifteen minute wait in line. Many people had loaded carts full of things that he was surprised hadn't been already sold out. Clearance stuff the store was trying to get rid of before Christmas hit.

"Did you find everything today, sir?" the cashier, a young Hispanic woman with a noticeable accent, asked as he finally reached the front of the line and handed over the wrapping paper to be scanned.

"Yeah," he said, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet. The line was long, people were tired, there was no point in holding things up by not having his money ready.

"For your children?" the woman asked, bagging the paper in a bag that must've been made specially for rolls of wrapping paper, tall and narrow, with just the top of the roll sticking out. Enough that Steve would see what it was when Bucky got home with it.

Perfect.

"A brother, actually," he said. "Not much younger than me, I just decided to be funny this year."

The woman laughed, told him his total, and accepted his money when he handed it over. "Well, that's okay. Everyone loves Captain America."

Bucky decided to do a bit of public opinion fishing. "Even after the disaster with the Winter Soldier?" He rather hoped he wasn't giving himself away in the process.

"Oh, that. No, everyone still loves Captain America. If he thinks the Winter Soldier's okay, then so do most of us." She handed him his change and his bag. "Thank you, sir, happy holidays."

He wished her the same, getting out of the way of the next person in line, and headed for the door, the bag with the wrapping paper held against his shoulder like a rifle held by a man in military dress; the butt in his hand, held low, the barrel propped against his shoulder. He hadn't consciously chosen to hold it like that, but it kept it mostly out of the way of other pedestrians as he hailed a taxi.

Once at the Tower and the cabbie was paid, Bucky made his way up to their apartment, completely unashamed to ask JARVIS to give him the express elevator up and bypass dealing with people going up to other floors. JARVIS was kind enough to oblige him.

Steve was curled up on the couch with a new book when Bucky got in. "You stayed out awhile," he said, marking his place in his book. "Where did yo-" He cut himself off, staring at the top of the wrapping paper over the bag. "Please tell me that's not Captain America wrapping paper."

A completely evil smile curled on Bucky's lips. "If I tell you that, you'll just smack me for lying."

Steve took in one of those deep breaths that said he was quickly counting to ten in about every language he knew to keep from throwing that book at Bucky's head. "Bucky, I hate you sometimes."

"It's not too late," Bucky said, setting the bag down long enough to shuck off his coat and boots, gloves shoved into his coat pockets. "There was more there at the store, including some with me, if you want revenge. I might have to do something worse next year if you do, though."

Before he'd gotten both boots off, Steve had joined him by the door and was examining the wrapping paper. "It's shiny. Bucky, you couldn't even get some regular paper, you had to get the stuff that would blind me when the tree lights reflect off of it?"

Bucky stuck his boots into the closet and straightened, that smile still on his face. "If I'd gotten anything but the most obnoxious stuff available, you'd worry I'd hit my head or something."

"I hate that you're right," Steve said. With one more dirty look at the wrapping paper, he headed back for the couch. "So at the risk of sounding like a housewife who's been waiting for you to get home, how'd the night at the shelter go?"

Bucky propped the paper against the wall by the corner of the hall to take back to his room later, then joined Steve in the living room, taking a seat on the other couch. That put his back to the door, but he was tired enough to let Steve take over the security for the time being. "Boring as hell," he said. "There's really nothing to do when a hundred and thirty-six guys are just snoring the night away. Jennie said I could bring a book or something next time, but I doubt that's a good idea. I'll either get lost in the book and miss it if trouble starts, or I won't be able to read the book, because I'll be listening for said trouble."

"Maybe something other than a book?" Steve suggested. "Doesn't that tablet have more than just books on it?"

"Solitaire games," Bucky said, "but I hate those games. The volunteers just talk to each other."

"And here's the part where I turn into your mother," Steve said. "Did you make any friends at school today?"

"You know, I could've found much worse for that wrapping paper, you asshole," Bucky said. "And you know how I am about making friends. Just because I'll talk to someone doesn't mean they're my friend."

Steve nodded slightly, as if taking in what Bucky said for evaluation. "So, fine, let me rephrase. You've found a coworker that doesn't annoy you enough to keep you from talking to them. Please tell me it's a pretty girl that you can hopefully ask out for coffee eventually."

"I fucking hate you," Bucky said without any heat. "I'll find a girl when I find a girl, would you relax? Just because you're paired off doesn't mean it's time to play matchmaker for me. Jesus." He shifted on the couch, pulling his legs up to cross them underneath him. "But no, guy named John Cooper. Nice kid, I think he's padding up his resume to go to ESU here in Manhattan."

"So he's a high schooler, and he's doing overnight volunteer work?" Steve sounded confused. He looked confused, too.

Bucky shook his head. "No, he's graduated. I don't know what he's doing to keep up qualifying grades in the meantime, he didn't say." He stifled a yawn, and started to look at the clock, then remembered he still had their work phone in his pocket, and pulled it out, eyeing the time before setting it on the coffee table. "Should I stay up to cook lunch?" he asked. "It's another hour and a half until noon."

Steve stared at Bucky over imaginary glasses, lowering his chin and giving Bucky a deadpan look. "Bucky, I can cook my own lunch. Just because you usually do doesn't mean I've forgotten how to do it myself. But," he looked at his watch. "Did they feed you at the shelter?"

"A little, but not much," Bucky said. "Just some of the leftovers from the guys' dinners."

"Then you should probably try to stay up long enough to make it to lunch, eat, and then go get some sleep." Then Steve apparently decided to be Captain Obvious instead of Captain America. "You look tired."

"You noticed that?" Bucky said, this time not stifling another yawn. "I'm letting you cook. I don't have enough adrenaline in my sytem to make me safe for being around hot surfaces right now."

"Want me to make you something now, and you can make dinner this evening after you get some rest?" Steve asked.

Bucky stayed silent a moment, trying to determine how tired he actually was. He'd gone longer without sleep, and quite easily, but that was typically on mission, when adrenaline and mental discipline came into play. When running in civvie mode, his body tended to make him get proper sleep and punished him for not doing so.

Finally, he nodded, yawning again. "Yeah, okay. I don't care what you make. Surprise me."

"Anchovies and peanut butter it is," Steve said, standing up.

Bucky glared at his retreating back as Steve headed for the kitchen. "That's disgusting and we don't have any anchovies anyway."

"Are you sure about that?" Steve asked, not turning around.

Bucky watched him open the fridge and dig around. "It'd be a lot of protein, I guess," he said, too tired to come up with a witty retort, and confident that even if they had anchovies for some bizarre reason, Steve was not going to feed them to him, much less with peanut butter to make an awful taste combination. He couldn't imagine anyone actually finding that appealing.

His eyes had closed and stayed closed by the time Steve returned to the living room, nudging Bucky's flesh shoulder. Bucky startled slightly, not sure when his brain had started to enter sleep mode, but he'd been awake enough that his first reaction was not to prepare to defend himself, but to look at Steve blankly before his woke back up enough to take his plate with his sandwich. He eyed the plate. "Oh, hey, you remembered my snack cake."

"You never forget my Doritos," Steve said.

Bucky thought he smiled in response, but he was tired, he might not have managed it. He just ate the sandwich quietly, barely noticing what meat it was, much less registering what kind of cheese it had. It was food, and that's all he really cared about.

Once his food was gone, he got up; Steve took his plate before he could even start in the direction of the kitchen, and shooed him to his room. Bucky didn't argue, just headed back down the hall to his bedroom.

He shut the door, changing into something other than his street clothes to sleep in, although it felt weird to be wearing his pajamas in the middle of the day. But once his clothes had been stuffed into his dirty clothes hamper, he could only stare at his bed. It looked too soft, far too soft. Like something he didn't have right to. Something that everyone should have, not just lucky people like him.

With a sigh, he grabbed his pillow and blanket and dropped them on the floor. Even if it wasn't the middle of the day and Steve wasn't up and it wasn't bright outside, the couches sounded too soft, too. Everything was too soft, too nice, too climate-controlled and full of accessible food and a place to use the damn bathroom without possibly getting kicked out for not buying something.

It was all something he'd give to one of those guys in a heartbeat. He knew how hard it was out there, and some of those guys had been out there for years. He'd been out there a month before Steve had welcomed him home with open arms.

"JARVIS?" he said quietly, settling down on the floor.

"Yes, Mister Barnes?" JARVIS replied, his voice turned down to nighttime volumes.

"Next time Tony has a free minute, tell him I said thanks for the nice place to live."

"I will, sir," JARVIS said. "Might I suggest you enjoy that nice place and sleep on the bed?"

One corner of his lips twitched into a smile. "It's too soft right now, JARVIS," he said. "Tony would understand."

He set his internal clock for six hours of sleep, then let himself doze off.

When he woke, his right shoulder ached, not much, just a dull sense of pain, and his neck felt a bit stiff. He looked around his room, momentarily confused as to why Steve's bed was not on the other side, and where Steve even was. Had he been pretending to sleepwalk again? That was the only reason he slept on the floor-

Oh, wait. Right.

He sat up, rolling his right shoulder in its socket to stretch it, then rolled his head until his neck popped with a satisfying crunch. He looked at his clock: four thirteen. Good, his internal alarm clock was still functional.

After changing back into proper clothing and dumping his bedding back on his bed, he joined Steve in the living room. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, heading right past him towards the kitchen to take stock of what they had, if he chose something that needed time to make.

"Food," Steve answered, not even looking up from his book.

"Aren't you as cute as a fluffy bunny," Bucky said, stopping to give the back of Steve's head a dirty look.

"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS's voice interrupted whatever Steve was starting to say. "Mister Stark is calling. Shall I lower the display for you?

"Please," Steve said, setting aside his book. Bucky walked back over to join Steve, standing behind the couch, leaning on it next to Steve.

The screen lowered, blocking off the tree, and Tony's face appeared on it seconds later. "Hey, old guys. When's the next day you can have guests over for dinner?"

Bucky's eyebrows raised. "Wednesday would be best, unless you want me to have to leave early. I work tomorrow night and Tuesday night. Why?"

Tony looked thoughtful, or maybe like he was reconsidering why he was asking. "I'm inviting Pepper and I over for dinner. Pepper's still mad at you, probably more than I am. I'm trying to convince her to give you a chance to apologize and make up for it. I figure that your superb cooking can be a peace offering."

Both Steve and Bucky were quiet for a moment, then Steve sighed. "We do kinda owe her an apology, too."

"To say the least," Tony said. "Just imagine how you'd feel if someone did what you did to our other old guy friend there."

"I'll handle it," Bucky said, looking at Steve. "Your speeches are nice and heroic, but your idea of apologizing includes looking at the ground and mumbling a lot." He looked back up at Tony. "If you don't mind a slightly late dinner, you can come over tonight. Just give me time to make something that might earn us a stay of execution."

"Hm." Tony looked down at the corner of his screen. "So it's almost four thirty. If you're fast, there's a meat shop about a fifteen minute walk from here that sells some rare cuts. She likes lamb. But nothing with strawberries, she's allergic to those."

Bucky nodded once. "I'll keep that in mind. Give me a few minutes to find a recipe, I'll call you back, see if it passes muster."

"Just get your tablet and start looking," Tony said. "List them off, I'll yea or nay them."

Bucky didn't argue, he just stepped away to the table and grabbed his tablet. Before he'd even returned to the couch and sat down on the other one, he was running a search for recipes involving lamb. "Just so you know," he said, a bit distracted by his search, "I've never cooked lamb."

"After tasting your hashbrowns, I have confidence in you," Tony said. "Hit me."

Bucky frowned. "I'm guessing to impress, kabobs, gyros and burger type things are not going to work. So that's about half the recipes in here."

"Good guess," Tony said.

Bucky clicked on one that sounded suitably fancy and eyed the ingredients list. "Lamb Tagine. I think I have all these ingredients except the saffro- oh." He stared at the page. "Prep time, almost eleven hours. Not using that one, then."

"Probably not, no," Tony agreed.

Bucky started opening a few tabs at a time, going through them one by one. "That one would have us eating at eight at the earliest." Close, next tab. "I'd ask about this one, but it has prunes, and I don't like prunes."

"At your age?"

Bucky glared at him. "Funny, Tony." He went back to his list. "This one should be done fast enough, after time for us to pick up the lamb. Butter Lamb Gravy?" He looked up at Tony.

"Not sure she's had that. Not since she moved in with me, but I don't know about before. What's in it?"

Bucky rattled off the ingredients list. "I have everything on that list except the lamb and the garam masala. I'm not even sure what that is."

"It's a type of spice blend used in Indian cooking," Tony said. "You can find it at a store over on Murray Hill here in Manhattan. I know of a place called Kalustyan, but it's pricey compared to some others in that area."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "You know your ethnic spices."

Tony smirked. "I'm rich, I travel the world, and my lovely lady likes a meat that's most commonly found in Mediterranean and Indian cooking. I've learned a thing or two."

After checking the clock one more time, Bucky did quick math. "It's nearing rush hour, so give us an hour to get the meat and that spice, the recipe says it takes about an hour to make, so dinner should be ready around six-thirty, maybe seven."

"Then we'll be there by six," Tony said. "Dress nicely, make a good impression. You're trying to ease the ire of Pepper. I'm scared of the ire of Pepper. You should be too."

"How nice is nice?" Bucky asked. "Because if we're trying to soothe an unhappy woman, I'm going to have to say, our suits won't be ready until the fifteenth."

"Not that nice," Tony said. "But try to wear something other than your casual cargoes. You guys _do_ have regular dress clothes, right? Like, business casual?"

Steve gave Bucky a sidelong look. "We have nice clothes, someone thinks he's funny."

Bucky arched an eyebrow at Steve. "You know, growing up with a strict Irish mother should've taught you that you pull out all stops when you're trying to make up for something when it comes to women."

"You know, we men that have been lied to kinda like it when the stops are pulled when it comes to sucking up to us, too," Tony said.

Steve started to say something, but Bucky hushed him, studying Tony. "That's why you've been fussing at every detail around here, isn't it?"

Tony looked like he just got caught in something he didn't want to confess to. He frowned, looking off to the side, not making eye contact, then reluctantly nodded in a side to side motion. "Okay, yeah. A little. Maybe. Just trying to make things normal again, maybe make it less of an issue. I don't like dealing with issues." Then he finally faced them again, mostly focused on Bucky. "It hurt, you know. Not what Hydra did, I know that's not your fault. I've studied those files possibly even more than you. But you both decided I didn't deserve to know."

Steve looked possibly even guiltier than Bucky felt. Steve never was good at lying, hated when he did it, and couldn't say enough hail marys to make himself feel better about it later, even after having a chance to apologize.

But then, it'd been Steve's idea to go to Tony for help with Bucky's arm without telling him about Howard and Maria.

Bucky took in a deep breath, looking back at Tony. "Then I'm cooking for you both. What kind of wine goes well with lamb? We'll pick some up."

"Oh, doing the wining _and_ dining thing? You might survive tonight," Tony said. "Strong red wines go best with strongly-flavored lamb dishes. A merlot would work."

"Noted," Bucky said. "If you want dinner to be on time, we're going to have to hang up and get moving before the worst of rush hour traffic hits."

"Get your asses going," Tony said. "We'll be there at six, whether you're there or not. Gonna say, it'll make a better impression if you're there and dressed."

"We'll be here," Steve said, then stood as the screen went dark and raised back into the ceiling. Without a word, they both went to the coat closet, grabbed their shoes and coats, checked their wallets, and headed out the door.


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm very angry with you both. Especially you, Steve."
> 
> Steve set down his fork, opening his mouth to say something. The word 'sorry' almost crossed his lips before she interrupted.
> 
> "Shut up. I'm not done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, mistersilver! This one's for you.

They'd taken turns at the food and the shower, Bucky putting Steve to work chopping the onion and cutting the meat while he showered, and then taking over so Steve could clean up. Bucky was still dressed in normal clothes, with his damp hair pulled back out of his face, when Tony and Pepper arrived. He had just put on the rice to steam and the lamb to simmer when JARVIS announced their presence.

He headed back towards his room. "Let them in," he told Steve before getting out of sight of the door, down the hallway, and into his bedroom to change. He heard their voices, muffled, and he could already tell that Pepper wasn't happy to be there. There was no hint of the smile she usually had for them in her tone, a cold and clipped 'hello' to Steve, and then something else that Bucky didn't catch. Tony sounded more amiable, but then, Tony had different ways of handling things than Pepper did.

After managing to fight with his shirt buttons and tie- stupid lack-of-traction-having metal fingers -he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, knowing that he was possibly walking into his one and only chance at salvaging a friendship, and not just any friendship, one that would make his other friendships very awkward if he couldn't save it. And if it came down to it, Tony would always choose Pepper over them.

Bucky returned to the living area. He was grateful to see that Tony and Pepper had not dressed up more than he and Steve, because he and Steve had nothing fancier than what they had on. He wanted to give Pepper a compliment, that blue dress flattered her, but he wasn't sure it'd be welcome. He settled on saying hello.

She didn't smile at him, just nodded her head in greeting. "You're the one cooking?"

"I am," he said. "Tony said you liked lamb."

Pepper glanced at Tony briefly, then looked back at Bucky. "It smells good." It sounded like that was the only nice comment he was going to get without some serious begging that night, if the ice in her tone was any indication.

"Hopefully it tastes good," he said, heading into the kitchen to check on the food. It was simmering, just as it should be, and she was right, it smelled good, now that he had a chance to not be panicking over if it was cooking fast enough for him to get changed in time.

"That remains to be seen," Pepper said. "How long?"

Bucky checked the timer on the stove. "Twenty minutes. Hope that's not too long."

She made a noncommittal noise, but nothing else.

Tony decided to save the day, taking up conversation with Steve, who sounded very uncomfortable, but the wrath of Pepper was upon them, and even Tony dodged that as much as he could, so they all sounded and felt uncomfortable. It was obvious that Pepper didn't want to be there, wanted nothing to do with Steve or Bucky either one. Tony was trying his hardest, bless his black little heart, to show Pepper that they at least should get a chance by being friendly- if Tony could do it, so could she. Steve was attempting to talk to Tony without compulsively looking back into the kitchen, like having food for them to focus on might save the evening. And Bucky was hiding behind the food as much as possible, staying in the kitchen and only speaking when addressed.

Awkward.

Between Steve and Tony, they managed to keep silence from reigning the evening, until the rice had finished and Bucky declared dinner done.

"So which seats do we take?" Tony asked, escorting a still silent Pepper over.

"Take your pick," Steve said. "We'll sit wherever's left."

Bucky served up their portions, setting the full plates on the kitchen island, keeping an eye on the guests, watching Tony pull out Pepper's chair for her. At least chivalry wasn't dead. Bucky motioned to Steve to take the two plates dished up for Tony and Pepper out to the table .

Steve caught the message, and took both plates out, setting them down in front of Tony and Pepper. "Here you are," he said, trying to sound pleasant.

They both said a polite thank you, it sounded like a mere formality from Pepper. Tony had enjoyed Bucky's cooking once already, had decided it'd be a decent way to open the door to making reparations with Pepper, so he sounded a bit more excited about the food than Pepper did. Not much, but by comparison.

Bucky handed Steve his and Bucky's plates to take to the table while he got the wine. Bucky had no idea why Tony had stocked their kitchen with wine glasses, but he was glad that he had, because he hadn't been thinking clearly enough to have picked any up to go with that merlot they bought.

After opening the wine, he balanced four glasses and the bottle in his hands, taking them over to the table. "Did you want wine, Pepper?"

She glanced in the direction of the bottle, not looking up at him- in fact, she hadn't made eye contact with anyone all evening. "Please."

Bucky resisted the urge to sigh. She wasn't even giving them a chance to make amends. She wasn't obligated to, but he could wish she would. Even just long enough to hear an explanation for her to do with whatever she wanted.

He didn't ask for the chance, though, simply poured her wine, offered some to Tony and, when he said yes, poured for him. He knew Steve would want some, if only to pretend it might help ease his nerves, and Bucky rather felt the same way on the matter.

There, everyone wined and dined and seated. Bucky finally took his seat.

"You've never made lamb before?" Tony asked, sounding like he didn't quite believe that. "For something you've never worked with before, you did a good job."

"Thank you," Bucky said, glancing at Pepper, hoping for something better than silence from her.

"It's not bad," she said after a few seconds, flashing a dirty look at Tony. Bucky had a feeling she wasn't going to say anything at all if Tony hadn't nudged her foot.

When Tony was prodding Pepper to have the minimal social graces to make a comment on the quality of the food she was given, there wasn't much doubt left that she was not in a happy mood.

They tried eating, food was disappearing from their plates, but slowly, with no conversation. Even Tony seemed to have given up for the moment. Bucky wasn't about to push when even he wasn't; Tony knew Pepper far better than he did. But he knew they'd have to at least use the word 'sorry' at one point that night. He wasn't sure while everyone was eating was a good time, though.

After a few minutes, Pepper set her fork down noisily, making a disgusted noise. Before Bucky could ask if he'd messed up the food, she crossed her arms and finally looked he and Steve in the eye. "Okay, fine. The food's good, thank you for the suck up. But since everyone has decided that they don't want to say anything, in the name of being able to finish my meal with some peace of mind, _I'll_ say something. I'm very angry with you both. Especially you, Steve."

Steve set down his fork, opening his mouth to say something. The word 'sorry' almost crossed his lips before she interrupted.

"Shut up. I'm not done." She took a sip of her wine, and nobody dared to do more than breathe while waiting for her to continue speaking. "I'm not mad about what happened to Howard and Maria. I was, but Tony made me look at the files when he decided to step up to help you guys. I knew you'd been brainwashed, I had no idea how badly and what had been done. So you're off the hook on that one. But."

She took in a shaky breath, looking ready to fly apart at the seams. "You lied to us. You both decided that Tony didn't deserve to know that his parents hadn't died in an accident. I don't know why, I don't care right now. It doesn't even matter whose idea it was, but you will be answering all of those questions before the evening's done if you even _hope_ for me to stop being angry at you. If you were worried that Tony might not come around, you could've come to _me_. Steve, you know me well enough to know that I would've been on your side and would've helped convince Tony to be, too. So especially you going behind our backs infuriates me. Quite frankly, I didn't want Tony bringing you here. It was one thing to help you out with the criminal charges, you didn't deserve to rot in prison because of something you couldn't help. But quite frankly, I don't think either of you deserve his friendship or his further help. The CIA can handle you just fine, they could've relocated you to anywhere."

Bucky stole a glance at the other two men at the table; Tony was sitting back, gaze flicking between the three of them. Steve was staring at his plate like he might end up making what he'd eaten rejoin what was on the plate if he chewed on his liver any more. Bucky looked back over at Pepper, not daring to speak up until it was clear she was done yelling at them.

She was clenching her teeth, her jaw taut, staring holes in their heads. "All right, start talking. Whose idea was it?"

"Mine," Steve said quietly.

Pepper's jaw actually dropped open at that. "You? Captain America, defender of truth, liberty and justice? You chose to deliberately _lie_ to your friends?!" She gripped the edges of the table until her knuckles were white. "Why?"

Since the questions were currently directed at Steve, and Bucky knew cutting in right then might not be such a great idea, he stayed quiet, deciding to be the only one not staring at Steve and putting him on the spot.

Steve didn't answer right away, only finally spoke up when Pepper started to get angrier at him. "I didn't think to at first," he said. "Not right after I found out. I was looking for Bucky. I had no idea where he was, or if he was safe. When he came home, he was a mess, and I was focused on helping him. It didn't even cross my mind until Bucky's arm got blown, and we needed Tony's help too urgently to risk having to wait while he cooled off over the issue."

"So you _used_ him," Pepper practically snarled. "I'm not seeing any reason why I should've even been dragged down here, and definitely not any reason why I should forgive either of you."

Knowing he was risking life and limb to do it, Bucky finally interrupted. "Pepper, he watched me fall to my death," he said quietly, not flinching when she turned her glare on him. "And you said you saw the file. He's gotten cutthroat about taking care of me because of it. Tell me Tony wouldn't do the same for you."

At first, that seemed to only make her angrier. Her face was red with rage, her hands shaking, then she let out an explosive sigh, letting go of the table and resting one elbow on it, her forehead propped on the palm of her hand. "I can't," she said, just the tiniest bit of the edge taken off her tone. "He watched me fall, too. If I hadn't been experimented on, I would've died." She lifted her head enough to look between them. "Did he tell you about that?"

"He did," Bucky said. "Which is why I said what I did. I was hoping you'd understand."

She made a very unladylike noise. "If he weren't stupid enough to do the exact same thing for me, I wouldn't." She drummed her nails on the table, staring down at the table, possibly at her wine glass, for a few seconds before looking back up at them. "All right, fine. You're going to have to work very hard to earn my trust back, but I'll give you the chance." She looked back down at her food. "The food is very good, by the way." She sounded like her anger had cooled off enough to have a civil conversation.

"Thank you," Bucky said. "Do you feel better?"

Pepper stared at him, one hand halfway to her fork. She sat up, looking at him like she wasn't sure if she wanted to keep chewing them out, or maybe just relieved that she could have a break. "A bit. Thank you for being smart enough to let me yell for awhile."

Bucky offered her an awkward smile. "I grew up with a mother and a little sister, I know better than not let a woman take me to task when I deserve it."

The last of her temper seemed to drain off, not leaving behind friendliness, but not coating every expression and word she said. "You were raised right, then." She picked up her fork and poked at a piece of lamb, before setting it back down. She no longer looked angry, just hurt, still red-faced and now wet-eyed. "I want to trust you guys," she said. "You've looked out for Tony, been friends to us both. But you _lied_ to us. You hurt Tony. You two should both understand why I'm so angry about that."

"We never said we didn't understand," Bucky said softly. "We never even asked for a second chance, from either of you. But if you'll give it to us, the best we can do is promise that we'll do our best to earn it."

Pepper didn't answer at first, staring down at her plate. "Your promises don't mean much right now." Her tone still wasn't angry. It sounded almost flat, like she was full of too many conflicting emotions with that statement to have any one stand out.

"I know," Bucky said. He sat back, studying the light overhead, trying to figure out the best way to make it clear that it was a promise she could trust. He finally thought of something, and lifted his head to look at her. "I'm promising you on my friendship with Steve that I'm going to do everything I can to not let you down."

She stared at him, mouth slightly agape. There was a faint furrow in her brow that suggested that maybe, somehow, that had actually gotten through her anger to something more familiar to him, touched on what used to be their friendship. "You're serious."

"Dead serious."

She looked over at Steve silently.

Steve didn't hesitate to answer. "I make the same promise, Pepper." He frowned slightly, looking at Bucky. "Don't think I would've thought to put it that way." Then back to Pepper. "But I make the same promise. And I'm sorry. I don't always think very clearly when I think something might endanger him."

Pepper glanced at Tony. "He's just as bad when it comes to me." She sighed. "All right, I said you two have a second chance. Although I'm feeling a bit more confident about letting you have it, now. So everyone eat, we've thrown feelings out all over the place, it's probably made our food gone cold."

The dinner went a little easier after that. Pepper still didn't smile, but it was clear she was no longer running hot with anger, nor icy cold with rage. It was an improvement. Her basic manners came back; she complimented Bucky on the cooking one more time after her food was gone, and said thank you when Steve took her empty plate to clear the table.

Bucky joined Steve in the kitchen. "I got this," he said quietly, speaking in Russian in the vague hope that Pepper didn't know the language. "I did most of the talking at dinner, you need to go do some talking of your own. I'm good at defusing a woman's temper, you're better at actual apologies, and that lie was your idea, you have more to explain than I do."

Steve frowned in consternation, didn't say anything, but set the plates down in the sink for Bucky to do and turned back to the others. "Do either of you want more wine? There's plenty left."

"I wouldn't mind some," Tony said. There was a three second pause before Pepper said she would like some as well.

Steve grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses. Bucky occasionally kept watch while he rinsed dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

"Does anyone mind if I talk a little?" Steve asked, sitting down. "I think there's more to say."

"As long as the only one doing any yelling is me," Pepper said, and normally, Bucky would've thought there'd be some humor in that statement, but he heard none.

"I claim rights, too," Tony said, and Bucky had to pause to look at him, realizing that while he'd let Pepper do the talking before, this dinner idea of his had been just as much for his benefit as for hers. "She's not the only one that got lied to."

"No, she's not," Steve agreed. "And it was my idea, and of everyone, I knew better. If I'd thought of it, I would've told you much sooner. I don't know how much time you two spent focusing on each other after what happened with the Mandarin, but I'm willing to bet 'quite a bit' would be an answer to that. I don't like talking about him like he's not standing right back there, but you have no idea how much of a mess Bucky was when he first came home. He was functional, he could survive on his own, but functioning as Bucky rather than just the Winter Soldier trying to survive without Hydra are two different things, and he needed help sorting through what they did to him."

Bucky made a point of staying quiet. He didn't like being spoken about like that, but this was a something Steve needed to explain from his perspective. They already had a good idea of what it was probably like for Bucky, after seeing the file. But the caretaker was sometimes forgotten when someone ran into problems and needed help.

Tony made a thoughtful noise. "So, basically, everyone else in the world stopped existing."

"Kind of, yes," Steve admitted. "I kept Sam updated, but he'd invested time into finding Bucky, and was one of the few people who had an idea of what had happened, that Bucky was even still alive. Other than that, yes, I was only focused on helping my best friend try to recover from what Hydra did to him. To the point that I had forgotten about Hydra being behind Howard and Maria's deaths. That information had passed so quickly by us when Zola mentioned it that it hadn't gone anywhere but to the back of my mind. It's not because I didn't care about you two, it was because there was a lot going on at the time, and my focus was elsewhere. Being a super soldier doesn't mean things don't slip by me sometimes."

"Never said it did, Cap," Tony said, sitting back, arms folded across his chest. Pepper was sitting forward, elbows on the table, her glass of wine in one hand. She wasn't saying anything, letting Tony have the floor. "But I came to your mind eventually."

Bucky didn't have to see Steve's face to know what expression was there, one of guilt and admission. "You did. After Bucky's arm was blown by that RPG. You were the only one I could think of who had a chance at being able to repair it. He hadn't wanted to go to you at all, he remembered what happened to Howard. You know what it's like to try to relive something before you're ready."

"So you told him to just not say anything," Tony said, and while it was clear he was _trying_ to keep a level tone, there was some bitterness and hurt creeping in there.

"I told him I'd handle it," Steve said. "I didn't handle it well. If it makes you feel at all better, I felt like a jerk doing it. I just made myself focus on making sure there wasn't anything at that base that could be used to hurt Bucky. Like he said, I've- well, I've become a bit ruthless about it. I know you don't know what it's like to have a brother you barely remember life before him, and then watching him die, but I know you know what it's like to want to protect someone dear to you."

"Ruthless is not a strong enough word," Tony snapped, then took a long swig of his wine. "Fine, okay, so you kept your mouth shut to make sure everything came up roses for him. How long were you going to let that go on before telling me? I didn't even get to find out from you, I found out almost two years later through the _press_. I know I'm not always the greatest friend in the world, but I thought I'd done better than that."

Steve didn't say anything for a few seconds, head bowed, and while part of Bucky wanted to step in on Steve's behalf, he made himself stay quiet and back out of the way. This was something Steve had to do himself, big brother Bucky couldn't come storming in to help him this time.

"You had. Have. One reason I never got good at lying was because they have a way of getting out of control very quickly. And I'm so bad at it, I didn't know how to handle it but to just keep my mouth shut." Steve lifted his head a bit. "It's not a good enough explanation, I know, and I'm sorry. I can't offer a better one, because there isn't a better one. I screwed up, and I admit it, and I'm sorry."

"So you used me," Tony said, still with that mostly level voice, but there was a bit more anger under the surface than last time. "You used me to fix his arm, you used me to get him to start talking to you, you used me to do everything possible to fix him without any regard for me, or for Pepper. I should let Pepper tear you a few more new assholes. And I would, if it wasn't for the fact that I would do the exact same thing for Pepper. Might even do worse." He sighed, setting down his mostly-empty glass. "The fact that you were able to pull this off at all shocks me enough that I have trouble being as mad as I should be."

"I had more motivation than my own safety," Steve said. "If it'd been anything else on the line, this would've come out a long time ago."

"Mm." Tony sighed, looking at Pepper, who just shook her head, then back to Steve. "I would've done the exact same if positions were reversed. So this is what I propose. I'm not going to tell Pepper how she has to handle this, that's between her and you two. But as far as we go, how about you decide to stop being bad friends and we start trusting each other instead of going behind each other's backs?"

"That's the way I prefer it anyway," Steve said. "It hasn't been easy on me to not say anything. I don't like being dishonest."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Not surprised. Isn't lying one of the seven deadly sins?" he asked.

Steve shook his head, not taking the remark about his old church too seriously. "No, it's in the ten commandments, though, so close enough."

"Shame," Tony said, not as light-hearted as he might normally, but not exactly serious, either. He looked at Pepper. "While we have a captive audience, is there anything more you want to say?"

Pepper studied Steve, quiet, then glanced over at Bucky. "He's not going to tell me how to deal with you, I won't tell him how to deal with you. He seems to want to trust you. I don't think he should, but it's his choice. Just remember this, you break that trust again, and there's not a force in the world that will save you."

"She's not joking, either," Tony said.

"I know she's not," Steve said.

Bucky finally decided to rejoin them at the table. "So who else in the Avengers do we have to make this up to?"

Tony's head tilted slightly to the side. "Good question. Thor doesn't know, and he doesn't need to. It doesn't affect him personally, it's our business and nobody else's, and the last thing we need is to pull him into the middle of something. Natasha obviously knows, and her reaction is her thing. I doubt Hawk knows yet, but all considered, I doubt he'll care, as long as none of us shoot him in the back in the middle of a fight."

"Nat's reaction is probably neutral," Steve said. "She didn't act terribly surprised or upset one way or another. Truth is a matter of circumstance to her, exact quote," Steve said.

"What about Bruce?" Bucky asked, a bit hesitantly. If Bruce knew, there was a chance of Bruce being angry. Bruce being angry tended to end in a lot of property damage, if the video footage from the battle of New York was any indication. Bucky didn't care to become part of the other guy's destruction resume.

"He knows," Tony said. "He said he understands both sides, and in the name of not becoming too angry at any of us, he's staying out of it. I have a feeling you're going to have to win him over a bit, though. Just because he's staying neutral, doesn't mean he's going to be terribly trustful of someone who lied to his friend."

"Believe me, I'm not going to do anything to piss Bruce Banner off." Then Bucky took in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Speaking of Bruce," he said, his tone rather flat, attempting half-heartedly to thaw some of the ice in the room, "where are those texts you said you wanted me to read so you two can get your evil scientist claws into me?"

There was the first smile anyone in that room had had since Tony and Pepper had shown up. "Patience, young padawan. You'll get them." He looked up. "JARVIS, what time is it?"

"It is seven fifteen in the evening, sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony nodded, considering. "I think at this point, we all know sticking around for after dinner conversation isn't going to be very successful, unless we all want to bitch at each other more, so Pepper and I are going to go. I will be around again with patriotic garland to stick on your walls."

Even Pepper gave him a tired look at that. "Tony," she said. "I think you've beaten that joke to death this season." She leaned back to see the tree behind him. "Nice tree, though."

"It was a gift from a friend," Steve said.

Tony stared at him, then looked at Pepper. "Now he appreciates it."

"He has reason to try harder," Pepper said. "Now, let's go, and no, you are not putting patriotic garland on their walls. I won't let them hurt you for it, but I might have to." She stood. "Let's go."

Steve and Bucky got up with Tony, walking their guests to the door.

Before Tony could open the door for Pepper, she turned to Steve and Bucky and gave them both a level stare, like she was sizing them up, then stepped closer to Steve and slapped him across the face, the contact making a loud smack. Bucky jumped, then went preternaturally still. Steve looked like he wasn't even breathing anymore, trying to not draw more of her ire.

She surprised them both by hugging Steve, then gave Bucky the same treatment. He made a point of not trying to duck either the slap or the hug.

When she stepped back, she looked like she was ready to cry, tears of anger and hurt, but there was a faint smile tainting the effect, a tiny sliver of hope. "I miss my friends. You make sure I get them back."

"We will," Steve said, said good night to Tony politely, then closed the door behind them and had JARVIS lock it. He rubbed his cheek where Pepper had struck him. "She's got a mean swing."

"We deserve it," Bucky said. He glanced back at the kitchen that was not fully cleaned yet. He'd spent more time focusing on what was being said than on the dishes, and the wine glasses were still at the table. "Quite frankly, we're lucky we got as much as we did from her. Or him. We fucked up, Steve. How'd we get so bad at being friends with people besides each other?"

Steve sighed, looking down at his shoes. "I don't know. I guess we got out of practice."

Bucky looked at him. "Come on. Let's finish the kitchen and then go to bed. I don't know about you, but I'm thinking the couch sounds fantastic tonight."

"Yeah, couch," Steve agreed.


	11. Wishing For A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I never looked them in the eye. We had a lot of air support to take back Khafji. I did ground fighting, sure, but I never looked any in the eye."
> 
> "Sniping isn't for everyone. Yes, it's a bit different."
> 
> "How hard is it?"
> 
> "I've done harder. But only in retrospect."

Monday and Tuesday passed with no word from nor sign of Tony. Bucky almost would've welcomed waking up in the afternoons to finding that patriotic garland strung around the living room they were threatened with. But he didn't see Tony during the few morning hours and few afternoon hours he was up and around, working overnight both of those nights. Wednesday came and passed, completely quiet.

Bucky almost wished they'd get a job that would prevent them from going to that ball. Even if it meant ten thousand wasted bucks on suits and shoes, it somehow felt like it might be better than the awkwardness of being where they didn't feel they were wanted.

He was just about to ask Steve if he was _sure_ there were no messages on the work phone about any jobs when JARVIS spoke up. "Excuse me, sirs, but Mister Stark is requesting your presence in the Avengers penthouse. Mister Thor has arrived."

Bucky noticed, but declined to comment on, the fact that Tony didn't call and tell them this himself. It could mean nothing, but now that Tony'd had a chance to hear them out and quite probably didn't like what he heard about why they lied, it could mean a lot. It was hard to tell with Tony sometimes.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said, marking his place in his book. "Tell him we're on our way."

Bucky set aside his tablet, went and grabbed a pair of socks from his room, and pulled on said socks and his boots. Steve was waiting for him, and normally he might've made a comment about Bucky's refusal to wear socks on carpet making him take longer to get ready. Bucky suspected that with Tony being the reason they were going out, it just wasn't there.

Neither spoke on the elevator ride up, the silence having become the norm over the last few days. Steve was born and raised Catholic, and few groups did guilt as well as Catholics. Bucky had developed something of a guilt complex of his own since coming out of the brainwashing fog. Now that they'd been pulled into a position of having to try to make up for hurting a friend willingly, their respective complexes were eating them alive. Neither wanted to talk about it, but nothing else was really on their minds, either.

They really needed a damn job.

When the elevator pinged and let them off at the penthouse, Bucky took note immediately that only Tony and Thor were up there, the latter taller than Bucky had expected, a few inches taller than Steve, although proportionately, no broader. What else he didn't expect was for Thor to be in street clothes, such as they were, rather than his Asgardian armor that seemed to be the only thing the public had ever seen him in, if the news reports were anything to go by.

But it made sense. No need to stand out more than necessary.

Tony motioned them over. "Hey, old guys, come meet someone older than you."

Thor gave him a weary look. "You are very tiring, Tony. I believe, by equivalent age, I am nearly the same age as the captain and his friend."

Bucky followed Steve's lead, walking over to Thor and Tony. Tony took the moment to pour himself a glass of what looked like eggnog, but was likely rumchata, given the stock of the bar. Bucky wished for a glass, himself.

"Probably," Steve said, taking Thor's hand. "Nice to see you again, Thor. Glad it's under better circumstances this time."

"And you, Captain," Thor said, then turned his attention to Bucky. "You must be James Barnes. Well met." He held out his hand.

Bucky took it and gave it a shake. "Bucky," he said. "According to Tony, I got adopted by the Avengers, which makes you guys friends. I prefer being called 'Bucky' by my friends."

Thor smiled. "Bucky it is, then." He tilted his head. "That is an unusual name. Where did it come from?"

"It's short for Buchanan," Bucky said. "That's my middle name."

Thor nodded once in understanding. "If I had a nickname, I would offer it," he said with a good-natured grin, "but my name is easy enough that it does not require one."

Tony snorted. "I think the only one around here with an actual nickname is him."

"And 'Tony' isn't short for 'Anthony'?" Bucky demanded.

Tony motioned at him with his glass. "You don't call me that. Nobody calls me that. Not even Pepper calls me that."

Bucky held up his hands in surrender, acting like it'd only been a friendly barb, but he wasn't sure right then. "Fair enough. Nobody calls me 'James' unless I'm in trouble," he said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Tony said, taking a drink of his rumchata.

Bucky suddenly had the feeling he'd be hearing his first name from Tony and probably Pepper, too, over the next however long it took him to earn their forgiveness.

He wished he could go back in time and do things differently. There were a lot of things he'd go back and do differently. Shoulda woulda couldas and what ifs. He wasn't sure which was worse, those, or the other things that haunted his nightmare. At least everything else he hadn't been a willing participant in.

Bucky stayed quiet, letting Thor and Steve catch up, and quietly removed himself from the conversation, retreating to one of the couches, folding his legs underneath him and listening from a distance. He could make small talk, but when there was an expectation of being friends, or at least more than friendly strangers, he wasn't terribly interested in trying. Thor would grow on him, he'd warm up, but for now, he decided to let Steve and Thor bond, to let Tony listen from the other side of the bar.

Speaking of Tony, the man moved around the bar and passed Steve and Thor, and took a seat next to Bucky. Steve gave them a backwards glance, but remained where he was, locked in his conversation.

"Not going to go join in?" Tony asked, sipping his drink.

Bucky wished he had a drink of his own. He didn't want to be sober. "I don't know him," Bucky said. "And he's Steve's friend. I'll let them talk first."

"Mm." Tony took another drink. "I remember you weren't terribly chatty with me, either. I had to trick you into it. Just so you know, Thor's a great guy, smart, but he's not as subtle as I am, he's blunter. Good luck with him tricking you, so you may as well try."

At first, Bucky didn't answer, staring down at his hands, then finally looked over at Tony. "So when are you going to start calling me 'James'?"

Tony gave him a stern look. "This isn't about us," he said. "This is about you being nice to Thor. Unless you want another friend to have hurt feelings."

"Then it _is_ about us," Bucky said, keeping his voice low enough to not interrupt Steve and Thor's conversation. "I'll warm up when I warm up. Right now, they're talking, I'm not going to interrupt them."

"Winter takes awhile to thaw," Tony said, and Bucky would just bet that Tony thought he was clever for that play on words.

"Something like that," Bucky said.

Tony whistled, a sharp note, and motioned to Steve and Thor when they looked over at him. "Hey, tall and blonde guys, why don't you come over here, sit down, take a load off. Get us all in on this conversation."

The two exchanged a look, then shrugged and walked over, taking seats near Tony and Bucky. Steve looked like he wished Tony would move and let Steve have that spot next to Bucky, to try to change the group dynamics to keep Tony from cornering either of them without the other there for support. Stupid, overprotective bastard. That'd been what got them into trouble in the first place.

"My apologies," Thor said. "I'm afraid the captain and I were absorbed in our conversation. I did not mean to neglect anyone."

Tony waved it off. "Water under the bridge, Point Blank," Tony said.

Thor scowled at him. "Jane explained that reference to me," he said. "Find a new name."

Tony sniffed, jaw moving like he was chewing something, probably his tongue. "MC?" All three men looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. Tony looked between them. "What, is that pop culture you haven't caught up on yet? 'Stop! Hammer time!'?" He shook his head. "I have been failed."

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have a name, Tony. It is good enough."

Tony pointed to Bucky. "He won't let me call him 'James' unless I'm mad at him." Then he pointed at Steve. "And I don't know the last time I called him 'Steve'. And nobody calls me Anthony, ever, or they find themselves flying off the building without my help. Why can't I have a nickname for you?"

"Because your nicknames are less than flattering," Thor said. "And often are only understood by you."

Tony heaved a heartfelt sigh. "I know, it's depressing. Nobody around here gets anything. You all spent your time frozen or not in this world."

"It's not like any of us chose that, Tony," Steve said. 

Tony made a face like a young child told he had to wash his hands before getting food. "And clearly, I am failing in catching you up, Spangles," he said

Bucky relaxed marginally. The fact that Tony was calling Steve that instead of 'Cap,' or worse, by his first name, meant that for the moment, Tony was not nursing his grudge. Or, at least, he was pretending very well to keep Thor out of things.

"Seventy years," Steve said. "That's a lot of pop culture to catch up on. Just because I'm superhuman doesn't mean I'm _that_ much of a superhuman. I can't exactly slow down time to fit more into the day."

"You need to learn from Hermione," Tony said.

Bucky groaned. "Oh god, not Harry Potter," he said. "Please don't ever reference that shitty book series again."

Steve made a chortling sound while Tony laughed.

Thor just looked confused. "I do not understand. Darcy enjoyed that series immensely."

"Then she's as nuts as the rest of the world," Bucky said. "The story was fine, for the most part, but the characters were terrible- Harry should've been a bitter drunk by the age of sixteen. The writing was juvenile. Really, if that's the best a twelve-year-old can read, we need to overhaul our education system. And I counted several plot holes, and a handful of timeline problems. The series wasn't worth the acclaim it got."

Tony set his empty glass down on the coffee table in front of them. "I see someone has strong opinions about books."

"He always does," Steve said. "Has as long as I've known him. If he hadn't been strong enough to beat up anyone who made fun of him for it, he might've gotten bullied almost as much as I was."

Bucky snorted. "I wasn't just a book nerd, the kids knew not to mess with me."

"Did you ever stand up for anyone besides Cap?" Tony asked, and Bucky heard the challenge in it.

Bucky looked at him. "I stood up for anyone who needed it," he said. He wasn't sure that was the right answer, but it was the honest one, and he refused to lie to Tony any more than he already had.

Tony looked like he wanted to say more, but Thor's presence was keeping his mouth shut. He merely nodded. "I'd say Cap must've learned it from you, but I think you two are just naturally idiots."

Thor smiled. "If they are idiots for standing up for what is right, you are one, too," he said. "We all remember what you did here in this city. Jane told me about your sacrifice to stop the terrorist known as the Mandarin. I have also heard from past news reports what you have done since becoming Iron Man."

Tony looked he didn't like being lumped in as an 'idiot'. "I'm a philanthropist," he said, then motioned to Thor, giving Bucky a pointed look. "Do you hear this guy? He called me an idiot."

For a second, Bucky wasn't sure how to reply safely. He almost looked to Steve for help. "He accused you of standing up for what's right. I wouldn't look a compliment in the face and spit at it."

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the sound of The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan started to play from Steve's hip pocket. Everyone turned their head to stare at him.

Steve sat frozen before slowly taking their private phone out of his pocket and staring at it. "Okay, who set that song for my ringtone?" he demanded.

Tony grinned like a jackass. "That's to make up for the patriotic garland Pepper won't let me put up in your apartment."

While Bucky had to keep from laughing hysterically, Steve checked the phone again, before frowning. "I don't recognize this number. Do you?" he asked, handing it over to Bucky.

Bucky studied the number. "Oh," he said, but didn't elaborate as he answered it. "Hello?"

"Mister Barnes, I hate to do this at the last minute," Jennie Brennan said, "but if I give you tomorrow night off, can you come in tonight? We have a bit of an emergency that walked in on us."

Bucky glanced outside at the almost dark sky. He figured it was between five-thirty and six. "I can," he said. "What happened?"

"We had a woman come in for the night. We normally don't get women in here, but we're not going to tell any combat vet they can't stay here as long as we have room to accommodate them. But you served, I don't know how common women soldiers were in your day, but I'm sure you can guess how dangerous it can be for one woman to be surrounded by over a hundred men in a crowded room."

Bucky didn't have to even put his imagination to work on that. "I'll be in as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Jennie said. "We'll make sure you have some of the food we cooked for the men, since I'm sure you'll be missing your dinner because of this. Please be quick."

"I will," Bucky promised, said good bye, and hung up. It took him all of a second to realize that the three other men were staring at him expectantly. "That was the shelter. A woman vet came in, needs a bodyguard to make sure the boys keep their hands to themselves," he explained, standing. "Sorry to run, but I've got work."

Thor frowned. "I did not realize you had a regular job," he said. "I thought that you and the captain were mercenaries."

"We are," Bucky said, handing the phone back to Steve. "I'm volunteering at a homeless shelter for combat vets." He turned his attention to Steve. "I'll take the work phone." He waved to the others, backing away. "Nice to meet you, Thor. I'd stay, but I'm needed right now."

Thank god for an escape.

He felt bad about leaving Steve with a passive-aggressive Tony and an oblivious Thor, but Bucky wasn't interested in playing Tony's games and trying to socialize with a stranger at the same time. The call from Jennie had been perfectly timed.

He took time to change his shirt from something good enough for lounging around the house to something warmer and better suited to hide his holster and Beretta, pulled on his coat, just barely remembered to grab the work phone, and paused at the door. He had planned on picking up something for Steve for Christmas, and maybe try to find something for his stupid brother who didn't want any stupid thing because he was stupid on Saturday morning, but he wouldn't be working Friday night. He grabbed some money from their savings, more than he needed for the cab fare, and stuffed it in his wallet.

They really needed a job. Their savings was dwindling, with Christmas hitting. They were still okay for awhile, but he didn't want to rely on Tony's generosity more than they already were, especially not with Tony and Pepper both mad at them.

Money in hand, he headed out, asking JARVIS to lock up behind him.

The cab ride to the shelter seemed to take longer than usual, but a glance at his watch told him that it hadn't taken that much time, five minutes at most. It still seemed longer than that.

When he got to the shelter, the men- and one woman, easy to spot with her long brown hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail -were at the tables, eating. It smelled like spaghetti had been served that evening, and it made him hungry. He rarely got Italian, since Steve wasn't a big fan. That wasn't a too bad trade for coming in with not enough sleep.

Not that he thought he'd feel the fatigue until he got home. He wasn't just on security duty, he was on bodyguard duty. That was going to put him in Mission Mindset. Fatigue would only be a distant memory that night.

Jennie spotted him as he approached the tables, then left the kitchen, disappearing from behind the window and reappearing through the door. She didn't say anything until she was close to him. "Thank you so much for this," she said. "Ella's come in a couple times before." She nodded her head in Ella's direction. "She's a good woman, but after the first time here when she got harassed, she's been hesitant to come back. The streets are dangerous enough, at least out there, she has a chance of finding a hiding spot to sleep in peace. But it's too cold tonight, she decided to chance it."

Bucky studied Ella, only able to really see her from her profile, but it was enough. She had mid-toned skin, maybe of partial Middle Eastern descent, with even darker eyes and hair, and looked in her early forties. She looked malnourished, but that seemed common around those parts. She was giving everyone around her a challenging stare. He had to admire her spirit, even though the fact that she had to be so paranoid was rather depressing. Didn't those men ever learn that they weren't supposed to make a woman feel unsafe around them? Their mothers failed them.

"I'll keep her safe," he promised Jennie.

Jennie released a relieved huff of air. "Thank you. It's all right right now, with dinner and all. We've got a lot of eyes on the crowd, so if you wanted some food, we can get you dished up right now, give you a chance to eat before you have to stand guard."

"Wouldn't mind food," he admitted, already gauging the crowd. There seemed to be fewer vets of the Vietnam age, and more from more recent wars, than usual. Though he wasn't sure who came from what. There'd been a number of skirmishes besides just the outright wars since Vietnam. It was hard to tell where the younger men might've served.

Bucky was led into the kitchen and handed a plate, which he cleaned quickly, watching out the serving window to the dining area, trying to keep an eye on his charge. He didn't get to enjoy the food much, not with his focus elsewhere, but his taste buds told him that was probably just as well. It wasn't that great.

Once his empty plate had joined the plates belonging to the other staff and some from the men who'd eaten quicker than others, or had been served first, he returned to the dining area, tracking down Ella.

She was sitting mostly alone, only a couple men willing to brave sitting by her when she was stabbing her spaghetti like her fork was a knife. She gave him a hostile look as he sat down next to her. "I don't need company."

"I'm staff," he said. "I'm not here to harass you. I'm here to make sure the others let you sleep in peace tonight." He held out his hand. "James Barnes."

She set down her fork, studying him. "It's about time this place got someone competent." She shook his hand. "Ella Langenberg." She picked up her fork again. "You were with the one-oh-seventh, right?"

Bucky rested his elbow on the table, glancing at the few men that were sitting with them, chair space between them. The shelter had more seating spots at the tables than beds, presumably with the idea of staff getting to have a meal while working. But it meant that there were fewer people to keep an eye on in the immediate vicinity. Once he was sure the boys were going to behave themselves, he turned his attention back to Ella. "Yeah, up until I got tapped for the Howling Commandos. What about you?"

"I'm a Marine," she said. "Served in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War. First Marine Division." She seemed a bit vauge, possibly trying to keep herself distanced, possibly just splitting her focus between him and her food. "Sorry, former Marine. I'm not in the service anymore. I'd probably have an actual bed if I were still in it. Maybe I should re-enlist."

"Think they'd take you?" he asked.

She took a bite of her food before answering. "Maybe. I doubt it. I'm not sure I want back in. Sure, once a Marine, always a Marine, but..." She trailed off. "I don't know. It'd probably be better than always starving and being cold and looking for places to hide from street thugs who want between my legs, but I don't want to go back. I served, I'm done. It's not like Uncle Sam has done all that much to take care of me, even before I was discharged."

Bucky noticed that while she was talking, even with her cynical words, her tone was from far away, like she wasn't actually attached to what she was saying.

"I'll let you eat," he said. "I'll just keep watch, make sure you can do that in peace."

That got something of a reaction out of her, a tiny half-formed smile, but it remained accompanied by that flat tone. "You're a good man, Barnes. What rank were you again?"

"Sergeant," he said.

She made a thoughtful noise, taking another bite. "I outranked you."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, a lot of people did, including my best friend who couldn't even get them to take him four times before Erskine came along. The little bastard was suddenly a big bastard."

There was another reaction, this time, one more pronounced as she abruptly choked on the bite of food she'd just taken, face red with what looked like the effort to not laugh. She finally got her food swallowed. "I don't think anyone would ever call Captain America a bastard."

"That's because they don't know Steve Rogers," Bucky said. "There's sometimes a difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America."

She poked at her food, took a drink of water, then gave him a considering look. "What about between James Barnes and the Winter Soldier?"

Damn, he was getting tested a lot lately. Natasha, Tony and Pepper, and now even a woman he might never see again. But she was entrusting her safety to him, she was well within her right to see how far she should do that.

Still tiring.

He swept his gaze around the room, settling only briefly on the two men at their table, trying to decide how to answer her question, before looking back at her. "Which Winter Soldier are you talking about? Hydra's? Or mine?"

She studied him. "Is that why you kept the name?"

Bucky shrugged. "They gave it to me, might as well take it from them. If you mean the difference between James Barnes and the Winter Soldier who works with Captain America, then the only difference is that the Winter Soldier is more focused. James Barnes tends to get distracted by books and sometimes by shiny cookware. What you're getting tonight is that Winter Soldier. You're getting my Winter Soldier. Hydra's Winter Soldier doesn't exist anymore, and good riddance to him. The world doesn't need another one like him."

She raised an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous smile. "And I'm supposed to believe that Hydra's Winter Soldier doesn't still live in there?"

Bucky looked away again, frowning, trying to split his attention between her protection and her words. The two men at their table were looking very uncomfortable; one even got up and took his plate to a couple tables over. Finally, Bucky drew in a deep breath and looked at Ella. "He only gets to talk when I'm sleeping. And I won't be sleeping tonight. So he won't be here."

"Which means I can sleep," Ella said, sounding confident. She finished off her last meatball, then glanced back towards the bathrooms and showers. "Think the staff will let me get a shower in tonight? My scalp wants to crawl off my head and die in the gutter."

"I'll make sure they do," Bucky said.

When she went up to take her plate to the kitchen window, he followed her, flagged down Jennie, and secured authorization to keep other vets out of the showers long enough for Ella to clean up. That got a few grumbles from some of the men, but a reminder that the Winter Soldier was her personal bodyguard that night shut down the noise to a silent annoyance.

Fortunately for everyone involved, it took her all of five minutes, and Bucky stopped blocking the door to the showers. That seemed to ease the tensions a bit.

Ella chose a bed as close to the door as possible, even though it was colder than the ones closer to the kitchen. Bucky silently shadowed her, standing guard at her side once she was settled on the bed. She wasn't laying down, sitting up cross-legged, and staring off into nothing. He watched the room with a well-trained eye, and didn't engage her, allowing her to do whatever she had to do to turn off her brain enough to sleep.

"Hey, Barnes," she said after several minutes.

Bucky didn't stop watching the room as he answered. "Hm?"

"What was your war like?"

Bucky hesitated a moment, then went back to keeping an eye on the guys who were settling down as well, some already asleep. "Probably not that different from yours," he said. "Methods may change, but war pretty much stays the same."

Ella went quiet, and Bucky hoped that answer satisfied whatever was going on through her head at the moment. It obviously hadn't, however, when she spoke up again. "I never looked them in the eye. We had a lot of air support to take back Khafji. I did ground fighting, sure, but I never looked any in the eye."

He sincerely hoped she was referring to his work as a sniper in World War II, and not his 'war' with Hydra. He wasn't really willing to go down the latter path with a stranger in a homeless shelter. "Sniping isn't for everyone," he said. "Yes, it's a bit different."

"How hard is it?"

Finally, he looked down at her. "I've done harder," he said. "But only in retrospect."

Ella was studying him, brown eyes flat and dead. "Hydra's targets?"

He gave her a noise of acknowledgement, but otherwise didn't answer.

She rested her chin on her knees, legs folded up against herself. "We had a sniper in our company. Good guy, him. We both liked the local food, talked about opening a restaurant back here in the States. He got KIA, but I decided to try my hand at that business on my own, named it in his honor. Fell flat, lost everything. And now, here I am. And I can't help but think that if he'd been here instead of dying, things would've turned out differently. That restaurant might've made it. Or at least, I wouldn't be here alone."

Unlike earlier, Ella sounded part of what she was saying. There were no tears in her tone, but it didn't sound like she was reciting something out of a script, either. And her words hit uncomfortably close to home, like a shot that grazed his ear. "We don't mean to leave people behind," he said, going back to watching their surroundings.

"I know," she said. "I don't wish anyone to have gone through what you did, but I kinda wish he could come back, too."

"What was his name?" Bucky asked, deciding that this conversation was going to happen when she should be sleeping, so keeping it directed off his time with Hydra as much as possible was a new objective.

"Zeke," she said. "Helluva guy. Still dunno where to go without him." Before Bucky could answer, she scooted down on her bed. "Anyway, thanks for listening without trying to get into my pants in the process," she said, laying down and pulling her blanket over her. "Night, Barnes."

The night wore on without event; Bucky could've honestly just slept on his feet for how much action he saw, but he was on a mission, with an objective to protect someone, and that meant his full attention was on everything around them, and on her. But the back of his mind was at work, and before anyone had woken for the morning, he'd decided on a course of action and had slipped some money out of his wallet into his pocket for easier and less conspicuous access.

Other volunteers filed in, morning crews for cooking and serving and cleaning, and the vets began to wake up. Bucky's alert status went up a notch, now that there were men actively awake and would be crowding near Ella. He followed her through a morning routine, giving warning looks at men who tried to protest a woman in their presence- god forbid she get into line for food before them, not having to share a bathroom with any of them and getting done there quicker. Hadn't they ever heard of 'ladies first'?

He declined breakfast; he could eat at home, and he wanted to keep his focus entirely on his charge and their surroundings. The morning went by quietly, food being served, food being eaten, and empty plates returned to the kitchen. Vets began to file back out to the cold.

Bucky followed Ella to the door, and she paused, just out of the way of foot traffic, and held out her hand to him. "It's been a trip, Barnes," she said.

He took her hand, slipping the money he'd pulled out earlier into it. "Don't get prideful at me," he told her preemptively. "That's cab fare. You're going to the VA. Ask for Sergeant Josh Lewis. He's in charge of coordinating the programs for the homeless there. Tell him I sent you, and he'll hook you up with what you need to get off the streets, get a job, get a home." He smiled. "Maybe they'll even get you the training you need to open that restaurant again and succeed this time."

Ella stared at the money in her hand, then up at him, swallowing tightly, eyes taking on the slightest sheen. "I wish he could be here now. You're the first person to give a shit since him."

Bucky gave her a lopsided smile. "If you ever want someone to talk to about what it's like being left behind, I can give you Steve's number."

She snorted, rubbing her eyes. "I think I'd have a heart attack if I talked to Captain America on the phone about my problems. Or at all."

"The VA will have resources to help you find someone you _can_ talk to. And that offer about Steve's number is still good. Or if you want to talk to me. Neither of us are good therapists, but we've been keeping each other going for awhile, that has to count for something."

She closed her fist around the money, then shoved it in her inner coat pocket. "You're a good man, Barnes," she said. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Including yourself."

They walked outside together, and Bucky waited until she'd hailed a cab and left, now feeling certain that she would at least be safe from any guys leaving the shelter and hopeful that she was taking his advice, then went back inside to sign out for the night and say good bye to the other volunteers.

With the rest of the excess money he'd brought with him, he made a stop at a nearby art store to shop for Steve. The asshole was hard to buy for, he didn't need much in his life besides most basic necessities that got replaced as needed and didn't make for good Christmas gifts. But he went through sketchbooks very quickly these days, and pencils along with it, and he'd expressed interest in trying his hand at charcoals and at painting. So, with a little help from an employee that knew more about paints than he could hope to, he managed a decent haul for Steve for Christmas.

He still had a little money left over for shopping for Peter, but he wasn't sure where to go for that, and his purchases for Steve had included a table easel and a couple canvases. While none of it was heavy by his standards, it was awkward. So rather than run around Manhattan with awkward packages, he'd drag Steve out later to shop with him. Steve would probably want to get something for Peter, anyway.

Purchases in hand, he went back to the Tower.


	12. With Eyes On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Protect him."
> 
> "At all costs."

"Your hair has gotten long again," Steve said upon rejoining Bucky at the table after having done the lunch dishes.

Bucky stared over the top of his tablet at Steve. "Yeah, it needs cutting. What brought this on?"

"The ball is in less than seven hours," Steve said. "You might want it cut before then, make it more presentable."

Bucky grabbed one clump of hair from around his face, pulling it forward to stare at it. It _was_ rather long. It'd gotten past shoulder length, where he usually kept it. "I could always tie it back," he said. He pulled his hair up to prove his point, and realized that the hair that framed his face that he kept shorter than the rest was staying back instead of falling forward like it was supposed to. "Okay, yeah, time to cut it."

Steve got up. "I'll get the scissors."

While Steve left to get the good hair scissors from the bathroom, Bucky grabbed his chair and pulled it away from the table, out far enough to be walked around, but not so far that the table couldn't be reached with a good stretch. He felt a little weird still having to have his best friend cut his hair for him, and probably would feel less so if Steve were actually a professional in the field, but for now, what was, was. 

He peeled off his shirt and deposited it on the back of another chair, then sat down in the loner chair and waited, for about three seconds before Steve emerged from the hallway, scissors and a comb in hand.

"You know," Steve said, setting the scissors down on the table, "one of these days, I should take a couple classes in this so I don't worry I'm giving you a lopsided cut."

"You haven't so far," Bucky said dismissively, holding still as Steve started combing his hair into sections.

About half of Bucky's hair was cut and littering the ground around them when JARVIS interrupted. "Excuse me, sirs, but Mister Stark is at the door. Shall I tell him that you seem to be busy?"

Bucky didn't even have to see Steve behind him to know that Steve was looking at him expectantly, leaving the decision in Bucky's hands. "Let him in," Bucky said. "It's not like we can't talk while doing this."

The door opened, and Tony came around the corner of the entryway, a newspaper folded up in his hand, and stopped in his tracks. "Is this some sort of weird bonding ritual that I just walked in on, or have we never heard of a salon?"

Bucky resisted the urge to shake his head, keeping still except to give Tony a level stare. "Tony? Please take three seconds to think about what the chairs in salons look like."

Tony's brows knitted together, then a light bulb all but appeared over his head. "I had not made that connection. Hm. I could find someone who can do that professionally without the chair?"

"Steve does fine," Bucky said. "I'd rather not have a stranger with a sharp and pointy object so near to my head and neck."

Tony shrugged. "Your peace of mind," he said.

"What'd you stop by for?" Steve asked, and Bucky could hear the quiet metal snip at the back of his ear.

"Just making sure everything's ready for you guys tonight. Your suits came in okay?"

"They're fine," Bucky said. "They did final fitting a couple days ago, there were just a few centimeters here and there to fix. We picked them up this morning."

Tony nodded. "Good. Good. Cap, is Sharon showing up and please tell me if she is, she has appropriate dress?"

Behind Bucky, the snip-sniping never stopping, Steve made a quiet chuckling sound. "I haven't seen the dress, but she says she was more than happy to charge it to the CIA, because she never could afford to dress like a princess growing up."

"Well, as long as by 'princess' she doesn't mean 'poofy ball gown that went out of style with Cinderella's era'," Tony said. "The only belle of the ball around here is Pepper."

Snip. Steve switched from scissors to comb. "I think she said something about asking Pepper for help on appropriate attire," he said. Bucky held still as the comb ran through his hair, stopping at the ends as Steve made sure his cuts were even enough to not be obviously bad. "I'm not sure how much help Pepper was willing or able to be, with her being busy herself and all, but hopefully she directed Sharon to someone who could help."

"I'd be surprised if Pepper turned her down," Tony said, leaning against the wall and watching Steve cut Bucky's hair like it was the most bizarre and fascinating thing ever. Really, did he have to make Bucky feel awkward for being unwilling and unable to go to a proper stylist? "She's not mad at Sharon, she's mad at you guys."

"Are you sure it's a good idea for us to even be there?" Bucky asked.

Tony pointed at him. "You promised," he said. "This is your gift to me. Don't worry about Pepper, she'd be angrier if you turned us down for anything but a life and death situation, and if one of those came up, she'd probably be angry if you didn't offer me a chance to tag along, because things have been too boring lately."

Bucky glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye, seeing the metal of the scissors close to his head and had to resist the urge to draw back. "We're not breaking our promise, Tony," Bucky said. "Just giving you a chance to change your mind. If you want us there, we'll be there. It was more of a question of if we were wanted in the first place."

"Relax, Pepper said she'd give you a chance, she wants to see you use that chance. Never seeing you again isn't going to let her see that you're not just going to blow us off again. But enough of that, you're coming to the ball, and you're going to socialize with us and the other Avengers, and you're going to brush shoulders with some big names with big money and your presence is going to put some of that big money into a good cause. So be merry, it's almost Christmas.

"But!" He unfolded the newspaper and walked closer, holding it up for them to see. There was a small article on the front page- hardly the central focus article, but on the front page nonetheless -about the Cohen Mercy Shelter. "I thought I was going to help with that. How'd you do it?"

"Oh, that." Bucky tried to read a few lines of the article without moving his head. "The reporter that talked to Steve about his hospital visits asked me if I'd be going with, and asked questions when I said I had another volunteer job I was going to be busy with. That article doesn't mention me, does it? I pointed her to Miss Brennan directly."

Tony moved the paper so he could read it himself. "Cohen Mercy Shelter is a non-profit run by Jennifer Brennan. It's supported by volunteers, many of whom are year-round regulars, such as John Cooper, a local young man working to get into Empire State University, Mary Percell, a retiree who has almost never failed to show up to make the vets dinner, and then breakfast the next morning. And then there is newcomer James 'Bucky' Barnes, the Winter Soldier whose heart is apparently not as frozen as his name suggests." Tony lowered the paper to stare at Bucky. "It mentioned you."

"So it did," Bucky said. "Coulda gone without the play on my name, though."

"It was clever, people will remember it," Tony said, folding the paper back up. "Ball starts at seven, the Avengers are going to meet up at the medical center before we go down. Cap, get ahold of Carter, tell her that includes her this time. We're going to be wired up to keep in touch this year, and JARVIS is going to keep us appraised of anything going on."

"Don't you have security crews?" Steve asked, making a few more snips, then stood back. "Does it look even?"

Tony crouched down slightly, looking at Bucky, then straightened. "Close enough for government work," he said. "And yes, I do have crews. But this is us. And Hydra might find this a nice time to crash our party. I want all of the Avengers able to coordinate if someone decides to send more aliens or something."

Bucky began brushing hair off his shoulders and the back of his neck. "So us three, Bruce, Thor, Sharon and I assume Hill and Pepper?"

"That's right," Tony said. "We'll go over game plan when we meet up."

Steve crouched down and picked up a lock of hair and showed it to Bucky. "We let it go."

Bucky eyed it. "Yeah, just a bit." He stood and brushed himself off some more. "What time are we meeting?"

"Six fifteen," Tony said. "If you're going to be late, it'd better be for a good reason, and you'd better have JARVIS let us know."

"We'll be there," Steve assured him. He glanced up. "JARVIS, can you give us a heads up at six, just to make sure we're on time?"

"Yes, Captain," JARVIS said.

"Settled," Tony said. "Six fifteen, sharp." He waved, then headed back out.

Bucky continued trying to get the hair off the back of his neck. "I'm going to shower, get this shit off me." He paused, looking back at Steve. "Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll do that."

Steve waved him off. "I'm the barber, we do our own cleaning. Go get that extra hair off of you before it starts itching."

Bucky didn't argue, didn't feel like arguing, just grabbed his abandoned shirt and went off to shower. There was still a few hours before they had to change into their tuxes, and, as usual, little to do in that time. Bucky decided to kill some time looking for and counting all the Captain America ornaments that he knew were hiding on that tree somewhere.

After finding about a dozen, he stumbled across a couple Winter Soldier ornaments and decided to stop looking and go back to his reading. Steve had laughed at his expense for it after calling Bucky weird for looking in the first place.

Five forty-five came, and in the interest of preferring to be early than late, they decided to get dressed and head down to the medical center. Before they left, JARVIS informed them that they would not be the only ones early. Once on the correct floor, JARVIS directed them to the first waiting lobby, where Tony was standing at the reception desk, fiddling with a comm ear piece, several others sitting next to it.

Pepper was sitting in a chair nearby, and was the first to greet them. "Hello, you two. Glad to see you decided to be early."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint you guys," Steve said.

"You're learning," she said, and although there was no trace of friendly ribbing in that statement, her tone was fairly neutral. Bucky took that as a win.

Bucky studied her dress, a cream colored gown with gold embroidery over the shoulders, cut to look like a wrap over short sleeves. "That dress looks good on you," he said, purely out of habit when dealing with a well-dressed lady he was trying to impress. Even if 'trying to impress' had a different definition than it used to. "Is it cashmere?"

Pepper raised an eyebrow, the tiniest of smiles gracing her features. "It is. Is that flattery an attempt at kissing up?"

Bucky shrugged. "A bit. But I notice things like that about pretty women. It used to get me at least a dance or two."

"Don't push your luck," Pepper said, but that smile was still there. "But thank you, I appreciate the compliment. And in the name of returning it, you both look good in those suits. And I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair up, Bucky. I think you might impress more women if you did it more often. It becomes you."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Bucky said. "So I hear you helped Sharon pick out a dress."

Pepper's smile widened a bit. "I did." She turned her attention to Steve. "And if you're not swooning over her when you see her, you are dead to us."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at the doors to the lobby, then back at Pepper. "It doesn't take much for her to make me smile. She could walk around in shorts and a t-shirt and I'd be happy."

"Well, you're going to be raising your standards tonight," Pepper said. "I did you a favor and helped her go all out."

"You're still the only belle of the ball," Tony said, somewhat distracted.

Bucky walked over to him, looking over his shoulder at the eight small ear pieces. They were clear, and smaller than most ear buds; they'd be almost impossible to see. "Those are the comms?"

"These are it," Tony said. He handed one to Bucky. "Put this on, go to the next room, help me test these."

Bucky did as he was instructed, heading to the next room as he adjusted the ear bud in his ear. "Is this good?" he asked.

"Perfect," Tony's voice said in his ear. "Come back, help me test all of them."

They tested all eight of them, Tony pausing between each test to wipe down the tested ear piece with a sanitizing wipe and set it to his other side from the untested pieces. One piece had a bit of sound warble, and Tony was in the middle of fixing that when Bruce joined them, looking uncomfortable in his suit.

"I see not all of us are here yet," Bruce said. "Am I early?"

"By a couple minutes," Tony said, barely giving a look to his watch before going back to the misbehaving ear piece. "These two just got bored of waiting and joined us a few minutes ago."

Bruce walked over beside him. "So which one of these is mine?"

"Grab whichever one you want, Bruce," Tony said. "I'm working on the only one that doesn't want to."

Bucky and Steve joined them at the counter, Bucky grabbing one of the working buds for himself, and another he held out to Steve. Behind them, the lobby door opened and Steve looked over, then back to Bucky's outheld hand, then quickly back at the door. Raising an eyebrow, Bucky looked over his shoulder.

Sharon had entered, and while her dress wasn't nearly as fancy as Pepper's, a simple, long-sleeved v-cut, it flattered her, the fake poinsettia hair piece was a nice touch. The red reminded Bucky of Peggy's favorite dress suit that she'd wear when on leave with the others in the unit. Bucky glanced at Steve, biting on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at the dumbfounded expression on Steve's face. The man was awestruck, and Bucky could all but see the little hearts fluttering around his head.

"Chrissakes, Rogers, go over there and kiss her," he said. "You've been on a date, you don't get to invoke your 'no kissing before the first date' rule anymore."

"I see the standards got raised," Pepper said, and Bucky looked over at her to see the smile on her face.

Steve's attention finally snapped off of Sharon enough to look at Pepper, bewildered. "Huh? Oh!" He looked back at Sharon. "You could say that." His smile looked ready to crack his face.

Bucky shook his head and leaned back against the counter, still holding Steve's ear piece, and grabbed another one for Sharon, once the lovely couple got done making eyes at each other.

Sharon twirled, her skirt flaring slightly, holding up her hands. "Ta-da. Betcha didn't think a government spy could clean up so nicely, did you?"

"You don't even have to clean up to look beautiful, Sharon, you know that," Steve said. "Pepper told me she helped you pick out the dress." He looked back at Pepper. "I hope I'm not dead to you yet."

Pepper actually was smiling very genuinely, like what she used to give them. "You're not. You get bonus points if you can stop staring like a goof and kiss her like a proper boyfriend."

Fortunately for Steve, he didn't get performance anxiety or buckle under scrutiny, enough time performing in the USO to be able to do just about any dumb thing in public, although the kiss he gave Sharon was far more chaste than that dress deserved. But, it was appropriate for a public display when his friends were basically staring him down. 

"'Bout goddamn time," Bucky muttered. "Hey, lovebirds," he said, drawing their attention, and held up his hand with the ear buds in it. "Come accessorize for the ball." While they took their respective pieces and were fiddling with them, Bucky pointed at Sharon. "You're lucky, I've decided to let the other woman have the first dance tonight."

While Sharon laughed, Steve rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Bucky, I won't abandon you."

"Good. Please tell me you finally learned to dance, or else your girlfriend is going to have sore toes tonight."

"I still don't know any dances from our day," Steve said. "They've gotten less creative over time. I'd have to be really hopeless to not learn today's stuff."

Bucky's face scrunched up in disgust. "Yeah, I've seen the stuff today's generation does. No form, no grace, nothing but swaying or jumping around. Sharon, your generation failed us all."

"It wasn't my fault," she said. "I didn't make the rules. But Aunt Peggy said the same. Dances in your day required a lot more involvement. I was taught them growing up, but it's been so long since I had a partner who knew what he was doing, I've forgotten a lot of it."

"Join the club," Bucky said.

"Yeah, when was the last time you danced with a girl?" Steve asked, like a complete asshole.

"Shut up, Steve," Bucky snapped. "You haven't been in hiding for the last two years. I haven't exactly had a chance to ask anyone out."

Thor and Maria joined them before more was said, one about thirty seconds after the other. Bucky didn't much notice how Thor looked, although at least his hair was pulled back out of the way, too. His somewhat unruly style otherwise would've been out of place.

But Maria looked nice, wearing a dark blue gown with a silver-sequined bodice, and her hair done in curls around her shoulders. He might have to ask her to a dance later, hope she'd oblige him a turn around the dance floor.

Tony handed out ear buds to the others, putting the broken one in his ear. "JARVIS, wire in, let's make sure we're all talking to each other."

"Installation successful, sir," JARVIS said, his voice only in Bucky's ear instead of through the overhead speakers Bucky usually heard him from. "My diagnostics indicate that the communication piece that was previously not working has been successfully repaired."

Tony tapped at his earpiece. "Yeah, I'm hearing that," he said, and Bucky could hear him both through the earpiece and from standing next to him. "Okay, people, here's the plan. JARVIS is keeping an eye on the place tonight. Stark Industries has the best security team in place for the ball, but they won't be a match for any Hydra agents here for revenge on Cap and Bucky, or any supernatural threats. Those guys will be our jobs. If something catches our attention, Sharon, I want you to get Pepper out of harm's way. It's already been said, you can't keep up with us superhero types. So you can keep my lady safe for me. Hill, if it's a threat inside the building, I want you to get to the back room where the security cameras are, chase off the security team working there, and watch the room for us. You'll be our eyes. Thor, please tell Mjolnir to not crash through walls trying to get to you if trouble starts."

"I make no promises," Thor said. "I do not control its path, merely that it comes to me from wherever I left it."

Tony made an unhappy face. "Well, I guess if we're called out to the playing field, there's already going to be some building damage. We'll deal." He looked at Steve and Bucky. "I know you two are paranoid cusses, please tell me you're armed."

"I'm not the one-man army I am in uniform," Bucky said, "but yeah, I'm armed. And I made sure he was, too." He nodded his head in Steve's direction.

Tony nodded. "Good. Bruce, if trouble breaks out, for the love of god, get out of the way. I'm a big fan of the other guy's work, but not when we're surrounded by over a hundred innocent civilians in an enclosed space."

"Don't worry, I'll be getting up here to start tending to the wounded," Bruce assured him. "I don't particularly want to destroy the building I live in."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Good man." He looked at his watch. "Okay, we're still about forty minutes to go before the ball starts. Pepper and I have argued about this a bit, so I'm letting you guys take a vote. I want to be fashionably late, make an entrance, impress our guests to loosen their wallets. Pepper thinks we should be polite and gracious hosts and greet our guests as they come in. Show of hands for who thinks we should make entrances."

Bucky and the others were all looking at each other in turn, nobody really wanting to vote one way or another. After a moment of group indecision, Bucky looked at Tony. "This is your party, why don't you be the fashionably late one with a grand entrance and the rest of us will be the polite hosts that Pepper wants us to be? Someone needs to be around to answer 'where's Tony?' when asked besides just her. She's a pretty incredible lady, but I think fielding questions from that many people might be a bit beyond even her."

Pepper lifted a finger, ticking off a line in the air. "Another point for Bucky."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, Pepper had suggested that, too. There'd be more show to the Avengers all coordinating a grand entrance! Impressing the party-goers means impressing their wallets! My idea is a good one."

"I have to agree with Tony on that one," Steve said. "When I was in the USO, the bigger the show, the more bonds we sold."

Tony motioned at Steve. "See? I'm right! Thank you, Spangles."

"But Bucky and Pepper make a good compromise," Steve added. "It might make us look less like a coordinated line of choir girls if you make your typical Tony Stark entrance, and then just say the rest of us are scattered in the crowd like party favors."

"I thought you said bigger shows sell more bonds," Tony grouched at him.

Steve shrugged. "Remember, most of my fans were twelve year olds who could harass their parents into buying those bonds because Captain America said it was a good thing to do. Different audiences. These people need to be impressed, but not overwhelmed. Overwhelming someone can close that coin purse faster than not bothering at all."

"I hate that you're right," Tony said. "Fine, fine, Pepper leads the polite brigade, and the suit and I will make our fashionably late grand entrance."

Pepper made a point of rolling her eyes and shaking her head, but didn't say anything on the subject, instead, standing up. "All right," she said. "Let's go greet our guests. They should be here soon."

As seven hit, people had already been arriving, making Bucky glad at how early Tony had the Avengers meeting to hammer out details. He managed to mostly stay out of the way, sizing up everyone for potential threat level. None pinged his radar too much, though; all of them were high society people of various ages and income levels, if the variation in suits and dresses were any indication. There were a number of young women in his apparent age range that didn't seem to be attached to anyone. That might prove entertaining later.

Twenty minutes passed, with no sign of Tony. Bucky was starting to hear people wonder out loud- very pointedly out loud -where Tony was, many already assuming that he was planning a grand entrance. Tony really needed to find a new routine if it was already this old.

At one end of the room that had been decorated and repurposed from whatever it originally was for for the ball was a low platform with a podium, where Tony was supposed to make a speech thanking the attendees for their generous donations. It remained suspiciously devoid of Tony-like life.

For another ten minutes, anyway.

Bucky and the others had all scattered into the four winds, mingling, although Bucky was pretty sure that Sharon and Steve were staying together like a couple of high schoolers attached at the hip. One attractive young woman had cornered Bucky and he was enjoying her company when the sounds of the crowd drew their attention away to the far side of the room, where Tony was walking completely casually to the podium in the Iron Man suit.

_For god's sake, Tony. How does Pepper put up with you sometimes?_

Tony waved, acting completely as if a man in a suit of armor was a normal, every day occurrence. Oddly, he said nothing though, not even after the crowd's welcoming applause had died down. It almost seemed awkward for about a second before Tony- out of his suit -walked in from the other side. That got a helluva reaction out of the crowd, gasps and murmurs audible as a giant chorus of sound.

"Take a hike," Tony said to the suit, waving his hands at it, and the suit disassembled, proving it empty, and flew off to whatever room it'd been hiding in before. The crowd applauded, cheering Tony's much more subtle display of showsmanship than he'd shown in the past, if old news reels were anything to go by.

Bucky resisted the urge to sigh and chase off the lady he was speaking to. She seemed rather entranced with Tony. Bucky immediately braced to either be abandoned completely, or to have to suffer through a conversation about how awesome Tony was. Neither sounded appealing, but if she waltzed off for an autograph or something, it wasn't much of a loss. She was pretty, but she was far from the only pretty lady there that might have a brain cell or two between her ears.

Once the applause had fully died down, Tony began his obligatory 'thank you for coming and throwing lots of money at us' speech, ending with "oh, and be sure to look for my fellow Avengers in the crowd. We're all here tonight."

_All of us, my ass,_ Bucky thought. Clint and Natasha were still missing, and while Bucky had been adopted as an Avenger, he'd never been part of a mission with them, so he wasn't sure he even counted.

But he refrained from pointing that out.

The evening wore on slowly; Bucky liked parties, but he preferred livelier parties, with more than just people talking and sipping champagne and only about half of the attendees on the dance floor. Parties like the old days where almost everyone was dancing, and dancing meant more than just swaying in circles.

He managed to locate Maria in the crowd. "Enjoying the party that we're all too on edge to actualy enjoy?" he asked her, walking up to her and interrupting her crowd watching.

She smiled, sweeping another look around the floor once more before giving him her attention. "It would be nice if we could relax enough to enjoy it, wouldn't it?" she said. "I seem to have lost track of the others."

Bucky looked around. "Well, I'm sure Steve and Sharon are close to each other. Tony and Pepper might be, too. Bruce is probably minimizing how much interaction he has to have, and Thor is probably trying to deflect some female attentions now that he's a taken man."

Maria laughed, a quiet few chuckles. "And what about you? Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Not hiding," Bucky said. "I've been girl gazing, and for the moment, my gaze has settled on you, if you'd oblige me a dance."

"That was a stale pick up line," she said, holding out her hand. "But it worked. I think this is the first time I've been asked to dance since my high school prom."

He took her hand, leading them to the dance floor. "I'm a few decades out of practice," he admitted. "Although I don't know why you haven't been asked in five years, not with that smile."

"That was much better," she said, resting one hand on his shoulder, her other still in his grip. "Flattering a woman about her age is a timeless compliment. But it's been more than five years since I graduated high school."

"You look good for your age then," he said, trying to follow her steps without actually following. Modern dancing was disgustingly simplistic, and it only took a few steps to get the hang of it.

"So do you," she said. "But I think you might be better preserved than I am."

"I'm not sure it counts when it was artificially done," Bucky said.

"For being decades out of practice with handling women, you're certainly good on your feet," Maria said. "You've yet to step on my toes."

"The modern dances are easier than what we had in my day," he said. "We had a lot more steps involved."

"So I've seen in the movies," Maria said. "Tell me, did you really have dancing contests in your day, like in _It's A Wonderful Life_?"

He didn't answer at first, sorting through the roughly bajillion movies he'd had to catch up on since returning to normal life two years ago. "I don't think I've seen that one. What year did it come out?"

"In the forties some time," she said. "I don't know exactly when. It was something of a sleeper hit. Did poorly at the time, but it's a Christmas classic, now. You might know the main star, though. James Stewart. He plays George Bailey."

"Jimmy Stewart, there's a familiar name. He was the best guy on the screen in _The Philadelphia Story_. Although the name 'George Bailey' rings a few bells."

Maria gave the floor another glance around, before returning her attention to Bucky. "Like I said, it's a Christmas classic, so I'm sure you've heard references. I'll remember to have Steve find the movie for you both to watch. I've seen a few of his other movies, and I think it was his best one."

"That's setting the bar pretty high," Bucky said. "You'll have to do a lot of work to convince Steve of that one. _The Philadelphia Story_ is his favorite movie."

Before Maria could say more, Tony's voice cut in. "Well, look who finally got dragged on the dance floor," he said, he and Pepper dancing their way next to Bucky and Maria. "I thought for sure you two would be too uptight about security to do anything but stalk people."

"Even paranoid people need a break sometimes," Bucky said. "How successful has the fundraiser been so far?"

"Exceeding my wildest expectations," Tony said. "Naturally, my charisma helped there. But having the lot of you around has had its effect. I told you."

Pepper sighed. "Tony, you are far too in love with saying 'I told you so'." She looked at Maria and Bucky with a personable smile. "Don't listen to him, I think the cause was unusual enough to appeal to people more than the standard charities we could've picked to support this year."

"Excuse me, sir," JARVIS said through the ear pieces. Tony paused, putting one hand over his ear. "I have received a transmission from Syria. It comes from Agent Barton. He says that he and Agent Romanov are in need of an extraction. He said it's urgent."

The four of them stopped completely, staring at each other, before Tony immediately started giving orders. "Hill, get us our ride, get it to the top of the building, we'll meet you up there. Cap, where are you and Sharon?"

"We're near the podium," Steve replied.

Tony looked at Pepper. "Go find Sharon. Carter, you stay with Pepper and keep her safe, or I'll have words for you. Everyone else, go change, we might be going into a hostile situation, none of us are better off in tuxes."

Maria had already turned and started muscling her way through the crowd. Tony took off, and Bucky was just turning to head for the elevator when Pepper grabbed his arm. "Protect him," she said.

"At all costs," he assured her, then hurried off the dance floor, through the crowds, and towards the elevators.


	13. Syria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The shrapnel moved, she started bleeding. I tourniqueted her, the bleeding started about two minutes ago. She's got another five, ten minutes, max."

"Where'd the transmission come from, JARVIS?" Tony asked once they were in the air and heading up and east, but mostly up at the moment.

Bucky had questioned where Tony had been keeping that suborbital ship that they got it in the air so fast, and he'd brushed it off as Stark Magic.

Yeah, magic. Bucky would just bet on that.

However he'd done it, it was impressive, as was the ship. It was smaller than what he thought a suborbital ship that could hold several passengers in the back with all the military mission requirements should be, and it'd been waiting just above the walkway outside the penthouse of the Tower. Bucky suspected Hydra/SHIELD technology modified by Stark technology. 

"I cannot say for certain, sir," JARVIS replied. "The message was too short to track accurately, but it seems to have come from near the near the southwestern border of Hamah that is shared with the Homs province. I have analyzed the security on the signal used, and I can say with seventy percent accuracy that Agents Barton and Romanov are likely in or near a military establishment."

"Probably not a currently used one, then," Steve said. "If they're needing extraction and couldn't stay on the line long enough to tell us exactly where they were, they're probably hiding."

Tony studied the map that JARVIS had brought up for them on the display. "What kind of radius can you give us, JARVIS?"

"I have calculated their location to within a two mile radius." The map zoomed in, showing a small area of land highlighted, about five miles west of the provincial border. "I cannot find any information regarding the presence of a military establishment there, however."

"There's one there," Bucky said. When all eyes turned to him, he elaborated. "Hyrda had microstations set up around the world. I couldn't list them all off by name from memory, and even if I could, we'd be here all day, but that's definitely one of them. I had a mission near Homs, there's some old oil pipelines not far from there. That station was the extraction point."

"Homs is a helluva way from the border," Tony said.

Nobody could see the bitter smile on Bucky's face behind his mask, but it was probably apparent in his tone. "When you want to frame someone else for murder, you don't do it from the scene of the crime."

Tony motioned to the map. "Show us where it is. JARVIS, once we have the coordinates, send them to Hill so she knows where to land us."

While Bucky zoomed in on the map until he was able to mark with reasonable certainty where the base was, Bruce spoke up from where he was going over his medical instruments, a large cooler of blood for transfusions next to him. "Do we know what their missions there were? Clint and Natasha's, I mean, not Hydra's."

"They were spying on the Islamic State," Steve said. "I have no idea anything more than that. The last we saw of Natasha, Clint had contacted her, said things were getting bad over there, she wanted him to leave, he wouldn't, they got into an argument about it. Of course, that was all in Arabic, and I don't speak Arabic, so for all I know, that wasn't true. But whatever happened, she must've decided it was dire enough to join him and abandon her mission in Nebraska to do it."

"Hm." Bruce pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "He couldn't have been very high in the ranks, it hasn't been enough years since we were fighting the Chitauri. And I suspect even he wouldn't survive the brainwashing required to get beyond a basic level bayat to even get near the Amir. I can't see SHIELD or Homeland settling for less out of a spy of his caliber but access to the khalifa. Government organizations tend to underestimate the mental conditioning that these groups make their members undergo."

"So he was suspected of going where he did not belong," Thor said.

Bruce shook his head. "If they even suspected, he would've already been put to death. They might've started to tangle with some other group, perhaps a cell that didn't take a bayat to the ISIS khalifa."

"Okay, again, not speaking Arabic. What do those terms mean?" Steve asked.

"A bayat is just an oath of allegiance," Bruce said. "The khalifa is the guy in charge of the entire organization, currently Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. You might've heard of him in the news."

"A few times," Steve said. "So how would they get Natasha in without tripping any alarm?"

Thor spoke up before Bruce could do more than shrug his shoulders. "There have been reports in our local news in London of many young Muslim women from Britain leaving for Syria to join the Islamic State," he said. "Perhaps Natasha went under the same pretense."

"Probably," Bruce agreed. "You don't have to be an Arab Muslim to join the fi sabillilah. She probably joined him as his jihadi wife."

"So current theory is they ran into another group that their group didn't like, and they can't get out on their own, and it's too dangerous to stay?" Tony asked, looking around.

"Given what I know of the groups, I'd say likely," Bruce said. "Clint couldn't have been compromised long enough for Natasha to get there before he would've had his head cut off. And if she went as his jihadi wife from America, they couldn't suspect either of them of anything until whatever happened that made them run. And it must've been something bad, you don't violate that bayat without risking certain death. If they catch Clint and Natasha, they're both as good as dead."

"Which is where we come in," Thor said. He studied the display. "If there is a possibility of anyone nearby being after our friends, then we would be best not landing closer than a mile from the establishment they are hiding in. Even that might be drawing too much attention."

Bucky counted off distance from where he remembered the base to be. "Any farther, and we risk them not making it from there to the jet if one of them is injured. We're already taking almost four hours, even with suborbital flight, just to get there. The longer we take to get them to Bruce, the higher the chances one or the other won't make it."

Tony made a frustrated noise. "Yeah, and even as nice as this ship is, it doesn't have the firepower to take out an entire terrorist cell if they all attack. Maybe if we didn't have to risk hitting Barton and Romanov in the process, but those guys are pretty well armed out there."

"May I recommend that everyone secure themselves?" JARVIS interrupted. "We are about to enter suborbit, gravity's effect may be reduced."

Bucky looked at Steve as they strapped themselves in for the rest of the flight until it came time to land. "Betcha didn't think we'd be in space someday when we were kids," he said.

"Can't say it crossed my mind, no," Steve admitted.

"Are you two still getting over culture shock?" Tony demanded from his seat.

"We missed a lot," Steve said, tone bland.

"You are not as lost as I am," Thor said, offering assurance. "Our ships look like actual boats and nothing like this. I think Jane might've commented on it had she not been so dangerously ill from the aether."

Tony sighed. "I am surrounded by the culturally ignorant."

"Suffer," Bucky said.

The rest of the flight was tense and silent, and the closer they got to their destination, the more Bucky slipped into Mission Mode. He suspected that to one extent or another, the others were, too. He wished they knew more, mission unknowns didn't sit well with him. Too much room to screw something up.

Maria landed them within a mile of the defunct Hydra installation. Bucky checked the display map once they were landed. "We're just under a mile east of the extraction point," he said once they were landed, unbuckled, and finishing gearing up.

Tony handed him a pair of black goggles. "Here. Those were going to be a Christmas present, but circumstances, and all that. They're to replace the ones Romanov shot. Made of the same stuff, comes with your own personal HUD. You're using them to look for heat signals, any sign of trouble out there. We're taking your lead, you know the place. You find them, we'll be not far behind."

Bucky took the goggles, staring at them, then up at Tony. "Damnit, Tony, getting my brother up to visit me was supposed to be my Christmas present, not an expensive piece of equipment." He put the goggles on, regardless, staring through them as the computer inside them started displaying a dizzying amount of information, heat signals from his friends, threat analysis, showing all of them to be the identities of friends, and therefore non-threatening. That was going to take some getting used to.

"Those will keep you alive when you and Cap go out," Tony said. "Having your brother over for Christmas Eve won't. You're welcome. Now get out there. We'll follow you."

Bucky wasn't about to argue with Tony, not then, and Tony's plan made more sense, anyway. It'd been a long time since Bucky had been to that particular installation, but he knew its layout, had a good idea where any old security traps might still be. The others were following behind him by several yards.

"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS said in his ear. "But I recommend haste. My sensors show that there is an incoming convoy of unknown origins to the south and traveling in the direction of the installation."

"Copy that," Bucky said, and sped up only slightly, the installation- and the memories that came with it -looming ahead. He shoved aside the number of casualties reported from that incident, and focused instead on everything he could remember about the installation itself. External security was limited to guards, automatic security system for approaching people unlikely.

That didn't mean the inside was the same way.

"You seeing anything yet, Buck?" Steve asked.

"Not yet," he replied, voice low. The structural integrity of the compound's outer wall didn't look compromised, so he backed up and got a running start, jumping at the wall, hitting it about halfway up. He planted his foot against it, propelling himself up the rest of the twenty feet it stood. He caught hold of the top edge and pulled himself up. No signs of life in the outer compound. A check with his HUD revealed no signs of hidden traps in the ground below him, so he hopped down. "Steve, you'll need a bit of room to make the jump over the wall, unless you want to be carried by one of the fliers."

"I'll take the extra room," Steve said.

"What, you don't want to be carried over a wall by one of us handsome men?" Tony asked.

"Funny, Tony."

Bucky let them banter in his ear while he searched the grounds, his Skorpion in hand. He knew they were on a limited timetable, with the approaching convoy, but going any faster than he was meant one of them could die from a security trap.

The front entrance was boarded up, to no surprise, but there were other entrances. "Going around the east side," he told the others. "The front door's blocked, doesn't look like it's been used."

There wasn't much to the base, it had been meant as an extraction point, and little else, with bare maintenance and staffing. The biggest purpose it served was medical care for injured operatives, and travel in and out. He moved around to the medical personnel entrance, in the northeast corner. The door was hanging open, and even though it could've simply been left that way upon evacuation, Bucky wasn't taking that to chance, and crouched, studying the door frame. His HUD targeted something in the lower left corner of the door frame and he carefully approached it.

A trip wire attached to a C4 explosive. A very basic and somewhat crude rigging, but it looked like it'd been placed recently. He reholstered his Skorpion and went to work at disarming the trap. "I just found a trip wire," he said quietly to the others. "It was placed recently. Heading in now." With the trap disarmed, he grabbed his weapon again, moving with careful, slow steps, achingly slow- that convoy was coming, and each second used was one less second they had to get out of there.

He stopped upon hearing a male voice, only passingly familiar, saying Natasha's name, and then something else in Arabic. He eased his way closer to the voice, mostly certain that it was Barton, and looked for signs of heat sources. His HUD displayed two warm bodies through a partial wall, one crouched on the ground next to the second, which looked to be lying mostly prone.

"Clint Barton?" he called out, declining to just step around the corner and startle him.

He heard the faintest noise of metal on concrete, followed quickly by "who's there?" in Barton's now recognizable voice

"Easy," Bucky said. "I'm the Winter Soldier, I'm here with the Avengers. We got your transmission."

"Move where I can see you," Barton replied. "No weapons."

Bucky put the Skorpion back in its holster on his back. Close enough. He held up his hands, stepping around the corner, focusing first and foremost on the weapon trained on him, his HUD targeting it as a Robinson Armament XCR. Information on it was hiding in his memory, but all that came to mind besides 'don't get shot by that thing' was that it was designed in 2004. Not terribly helpful.

The second thing he took in, even before Barton had a chance to finish making up his mind about Bucky, was that Natasha had been the prone figure, her head resting on Clint's knees. She looked disoriented, a long, thin piece of metal jammed into her thigh. Bucky wasn't sure how long she'd been injured, but she'd obviously lost enough blood that coherence probably wasn't her strong suit just then.

Barton lowered his gun, letting out an explosive breath. "What the hell took you guys so long?!" he demanded. "The shrapnel moved, she started bleeding." He set down the gun and motioned Bucky over. Bucky crouched by Natasha, examining the wound. Her loose fitting pants were ripped around the metal, tucked into the wound by the force of the impalement. There was a tight band wrapped around her thigh just above the wound. "I tourniqueted her, the bleeding started about two minutes ago. She's got another five, ten minutes, max. Please tell me you brought Banner and he came prepared."

"He's on the ship, he's brought surgical tools and some blood. We didn't know what sort of injury we'd be seeing," Bucky assured him, examining the wound. "I found them," he said into the comm. "She's bleeding, it's a thigh injury, looks like shrapnel impaled her femoral artery. Bruce, be ready, we're bringing her back to you."

"We're here, Bucky," Tony said, both in his ear, and from just around the corner and down the hall a bit.

Natasha rolled her head to one side, staring at Bucky blankly, then gave him the tiniest of smiles. "Thought I told you to stay out of trouble," she said.

"I should've said that to you," he told her, looking over when the others arrived. "Tony, you'll have to carry her over that wall, that'll jar her the least and you can get to the ship faster."

"I do hate to interrupt," JARVIS said, "but it seems our convoy friends have arrived. I recommend taking defensive measures."

Before Bucky could do more than look in Steve's direction, Steve was already looking around, evaluating their surroundings. "JARVIS, do we have enough time for Tony to get Natasha out of here without having to take evasive action?"

"I'm afraid not, Captain," JARVIS said.

"Damn," Tony said. "We'll have to try to break a hole in their offenses, get me a shot out of here. Once we get her back to Bruce, I can come back and help mop up." He looked towards the front of the base. "JARVIS is picking up between thirty and forty trucks, not sure how many people in them, but those can carry a lot, especially if you pack in like sardines. I'm seeing a lot of weapons, mostly assault rifles, but there's some stuff that looks bigger on top of the trucks. Guessing they're SRBMs." He lifted his head to look at Steve. "Call it, Cap."

Steve grabbed his shield off his back. "Bucky, you stay here with Clint and Natasha. Clint, you keep her alive, keep that wound plugged up. Bucky, keep them safe, we'll try to keep the worst of the fighting away from your corner here. Thor, if you can pull it off, get out there and see how many of those SRBMs you can knock out with your lightning. Feel free to beat anything that gets by you with Mjolnir. Tony, you and I hold the midline, try to draw some fire away from Thor so he can do his job. Bruce?"

"I'm here," Bruce said. "I'm not coming out to smash, you need me to help Natasha when she gets here."

"Wasn't going to ask you to," Steve said. "Make sure you have everything you need for her ready, you won't get much warning when we're able to get her and Tony out of here."

Whatever Bruce might've said in response was drowned out by the force of an explosion ripping through the perimeter wall and into the front entrance, blowing in cement and leaving an exit hole the size of a small car in the back wall. Response was instantaneous; Steve's shield was brought up to cover himself, Thor ducked down behind Steve to keep his face from getting rubble on it. Tony flew out into the center of the room, square between the entrance and exit holes, facing the oncoming combatants that were spilling out of their trucks, and fired off a series of small missiles from his shoulders, just to create some confusion and buy some time.

"Thor, get through or new back exit, up and over," Tony said, half-turned, motioning towards the blasted hole.

Bucky's HUD started blinking red, and he looked just in time to see an RPG-7 firing a TBG-7V, aimed directly at Tony's back. He yelled Tony's name in warning, too late for Tony to react, but fast enough for Steve to have jumped in and taken the shot with the shield, sending him crashing back into Tony, the force of the explosion knocking them into Thor and further out the exit hole.

Bucky crept forward from his corner, well-placed to hide Barton and Natasha, while giving him a good vantage point to watch the action and call shots. He reached for his Skorpion, intent on clearing some room for the other three to get to their feet when Barton spoke up.

"Here, take that," he said, and Bucky looked back to see Barton holding out the XCR for Bucky to take.

Bucky didn't question, gave him a thanks while grabbing it and laying down some cover fire. The front line of combatants that were storming in through their homemade entrance fell to the spray of bullets.

"JARVIS, who are we playing with?" Tony asked, and Bucky spared just enough of a glance to see him back on his feet, or rather, a few feet in the air, adding to Bucky's line of fire. Bucky ducked back a bit, still able to watch, but not out where he could draw attention to his location.

"Analyzing the flags on the personnel trucks indicates that this is a cell of the Islamic State," JARVIS replied. "I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there seems to be another group on its way, coming from the same direction."

"You must be kidding me," Steve said, ricocheting back bullet spray, then flinging his shield, knocking several fighters that had managed to get through the entrance in the heads, the shield smacking against the edge of the entrance and flying back to Steve's hand. "More jihadists?"

"I am not certain," JARVIS said. Outside, thunder rumbled, the sky growing dark and lighting hitting the trucks, causing the externally-mounted SRBMs to explode. The trucks shattered around the mounts, sending shrapnel and men flying, some on fire, some likely hit by the shrapnel from the trucks, and some probably already dead.

Bucky looked back at Barton and Natasha when he heard Natasha make a pained noise. "How's she doing?"

"I have the bleeding slowed," Barton said. "But I don't dare try to put pressure there, I might move the shrapnel more and open the severed ends of the artery. She'd bleed out before we got out of here."

Bucky grunted, turning back out to watch the battle. He raised the XCR, counting the seconds that passed, trying to track how much time they might have to get Natasha to Bruce. Men drew near, most by pure accident as they fanned out to try to circle Steve and Tony. The XCR wasn't terribly precise, not like a snipe would be, and he sorely wished for one then. But the Winter Soldier could make anything precise. He could snipe with a smoothbore from a klick away. Using an XCR with accuracy was easy.

Down one. Another one nearby. Enemy neutralized. One combatant caught sight of them. He ignored the HUD's targeting, stared the enemy combatant in the eye from behind his goggles. Five degrees up, headshot. Fire.

Another combatant down.

Seconds more passed. Tick tick tick.

He heard the rumble of more trucks. JARVIS had no idea who they were, which meant they weren't the Islamic State. Something occurred to him, and he turned back to Barton. "Who out there is after you?" he asked.

"Our jihadi cell," Barton said.

"Anyone else?" Bucky demanded, watching and feeling frustrated at not being able to join in the main fray with Tony and Steve. Thor had landed from wherever he'd been hiding out of Bucky's vantage point, and had joined Tony and Steve in taking on the combatants several of them per one Avenger. "JARVIS says there's another group incoming, he doesn't know who they are."

"Ask him if they have any flags or anything that says 'Shabaab Min Al-Jannah' on it."

"JARVIS, you hear that?"

"I did, Mister Barnes, and I can confirm that Agent Barton is correct. There are no records of a jihadist group with that name," JARVIS said.

"They do," Bucky said, turning back to Barton again.

Barton let loose a Russian swear that almost made Bucky laugh for how creative it was. He might've if he weren't so focused on keeping them safe. "That's the group that chased us off. Tell the others to try to get the jihadists occupied with the incoming Brothers, let them take care of each other, give us an opening to get out of here."

"Copy that." Bucky turned, taking note of where everyone was. Tony was leveling a blast of energy from his hand repulsors, Steve was flinging a live grenade that Bucky could only guess he'd caught incoming out into the crowd that was starting to get stopped by the bodies of their fallen comrades. Thor sent several flying into and through the far wall of the compound with a swing of Mjolnir.

Watching the fight, Bucky almost- almost -wondered if the threatened governments of Syria and Iraq couldn't just hire the Avengers to just wipe the entirety of the jihadists off the map. It was a very distant almost, though. The Avengers were good, but that might push them, and he had a feeling nobody wanted involved in that nonsense more than absolutely necessary.

"Barton says our new friends are another group that's in conflict with our current batch," he said to the others. "Recommending trying to distract both groups with each other while we initiate a 'get the hell out of here' maneuver."

"Sounds perfect to me," Tony said. "Thor, knock one of those trucks back towards the other incoming group, get them mad at each other."

"Doable," Thor replied, leaping over the main line of fighting and landing yards away, near the last of the trucks that had moved into a tight formation around the entrance. Bucky heard yells and curses in Arabic outside, seconds before he saw a truck go flying over the top of the nearer ones. There was a hell of an explosion not far away, and the jihadists that had been trying to swarm the compound turned, ducking out away from the Avengers and back to hold their own line as shots began to fire from farther away.

"They're busy, time to get moving," Tony said, flying over to the corner Bucky was guarding and moving to pick up Natasha. "I'm going ahead, cover my back," he said, very gingerly picking up Natasha and cradling her in his arms.

Thor rejoined them through the back exit, watching the two groups starting to fight each other. Tony took off, and Bucky and the other men followed, keeping half turned to watch for incoming fighters without running into a wall on their way.

"We are fortunate that these two groups do not seem to like each other," Thor said.

Barton was running ahead of them, trying to keep up with Tony. "Yeah, I'll explain later," he said.

Barton was forced to let Thor help him up over the perimeter wall- Bucky wondered how he'd gotten through that with an injured Natasha in the first place -while Steve and Bucky took their running leaps at and over the wall.

Tony had long-since beaten them to the ship, and Bruce was already working on Natasha. Tony was holding up a bag of blood that was attached to an IV that was hooked into Natasha's arm.

"Is she okay?" Barton demanded.

"I just got started, Clint," Bruce said, sounding distracted as he carefully, slowly tugged the embedded piece of metal. "Good tourniquet, that probably saved her life."

"Hill, we're all here," Tony said. "Get us out of here.

"Roger," she said in their ear pieces, and the sloped exit ramp closed behind them. The engines rumbled to life and Bucky felt the distinct force of inertia as they rose. They hadn't had time to engage suborbital flight preparations- either Hill would have to take them the slow way home, which might be bad, as Bruce might not have brought enough blood in the right blood type to keep her alive until he could get to the medical center in the Tower, or she'd have to land somewhere relatively nearby, go through preparations, and then take them up.

"Clint, come take that blood packet from Tony, Tony, I need your non-flesh hands to take this from me, I don't need anyone getting contaminated with someone else's blood," Bruce said, waiting until the men had traded places to finish pulling out the thin piece of metal. Natasha barely reacted, pale and respiration shallow. Bruce handed over the piece of shrapnel and immediately started his surgery. Bucky wished he knew enough about medicine to be a surgery assistant, but he couldn't even tell what Bruce was doing, exactly. He assumed Bruce was clamping the severed artery ends shut, but he couldn't be certain on that.

Bruce asked for one of them to grab another packet of blood, and Steve- the closest of the three men not already occupied helping him -obliged, trading it out with Barton as the first bag emptied, setting up the second bag to the IV.

Bucky stayed back out of the way, quiet and not doing anything to interrupt their work- Bruce operating, Barton holding the blood packets up to drip blood down the IV, Steve trading out full packets for the empty ones. Tony remained as the surgical assistant, JARVIS helping him keep track of Natasha's vitals.

"Bruce, her blood pressure's going way down," Tony said. "She's bleeding too fast."

"I know," Bruce said, expression one of intense concentration. "How much blood do we have, Steve?"

"Another four pints," Steve said after checking in the cooler.

"We'll try to get her through another two before I try Tetradoxine-B, stop the heart from pumping the blood out faster than we can get it in her," Bruce said.

Bucky wasn't a biochemist, and that chemical didn't sound at all familiar. "What's that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"It's something Bruce developed for stress," Steve said, and Bucky wondered exactly how he knew that. "Slows the heart to one beat per minute. It'll wear off, but it'd buy Bruce time to get the arteries sutured and healing before we run out of transfusion blood."

Bruce didn't look away from his work, but Bucky saw him raise an eyebrow. "How'd you find out about that, Cap?"

"Someone Natasha knows told me. Don't ask me where he got the information, I couldn't say."

Couldn't. That was Steve's only standby lie that got by most people, but never past Bucky. He wondered exactly what it was that wasn't being said that Steve felt he couldn't say safely in that company.

"Bucky, how bad are you with needles?" Bruce asked.

"That depends on if you want me using it on someone else, or if they're coming at me," Bucky said.

"I'm not medicating you," Bruce said. "The Tetrodotoxine's in that steel box, it just needs the injection needle prepped for me. I can't spare my hands to do it. If we get through another two pints, I need you to do that for me."

Bucky maneuvered around Steve and Barton, careful not to jostle anyone, and took up position behind Steve, crouched on one knee by the box. Seconds passed. Tony kept a running update on Natasha's blood pressure, pulse rate, and oxygen levels. Another pint of blood was switched out. Bruce remained as focused on the surgery as Bucky was on mission.

More seconds passed. Bucky mentally counted them.

Tick tick tick.

Natasha's blood loss slowed, but didn't stop.

Tick tick tick.

Their mission had been to save her, even if mission failure didn't result in the death of a fellow Avenger, mission failure in general never sat well on him. Mission failure meant so many bad things, not just for the mission, but for him. He was trying to break that conditioning, but since he and Steve had never failed a mission since becoming mercenaries, Bucky hadn't exactly had time to kill that little fear demon living in the back of his skull and the pit of his stomach.

Add into that failure the death of a friend, and the whole idea shut down everything that might distract him in his brain from focusing on his mission. Keep her alive. But he couldn't do anything but be ready to give Bruce that medicine, ready to inject.

Tick tick tick.

Bruce finally looked up, studying the pint of blood that Barton had held up, two-thirds empty, then back down at Natasha's injury. "Tony, what's her vitals?"

"BP seventy over forty, pulse one fifty, but it's weak. O2 levels at 78. Those are holding steady now," Tony replied.

Bruce let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I got the arteries sutured. The bleeding's stopped. Now it's just a matter of getting more blood into her to bring her back around." He rolled his head, cracking his neck, then went back to work, closing up the wound. "Bucky, you can go sit back down."

Mission successful. Bucky followed Bruce's suggestion and found a seat to sink down into and wait for them to return to the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All information on Islamic terrorist groups as Bruce presented is accurate.
> 
> "Shabaab Min Al-Jannah" is a fictional terrorist group. It's Arabic for "Brothers Of Heaven."
> 
> A Robinson Armament XCR is a multi-caliber, gas-piston weapon. It's an assault rifle currently offered to law enforcement, the military, and the public. It was designed in 2004 and put on the market in 2006.
> 
> "SRBM" is short for 'short range ballistic missiles.'
> 
> An RPG-7 is a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, rather all-purpose. It's originally Soviet-made, for some delicious throwback.
> 
> A TBG-7V is a Thermobaric warhead for anti-personnel and urban warfare.


	14. After The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now, all of you, go away. Bruce is going to put me back to sleep for awhile, and I don't need three of the seven dwarfs keeping watch over my glass coffin."
> 
> "Maybe not, but Doc's going to stick around until one of his relief pitchers shows up. You can kick out Grumpy, Dopey and Sleepy, though."
> 
> "Did I just get renamed to 'Grumpy'?"
> 
> "Better than being renamed Dopey."

The waiting lobby nearest to the room that Bruce put Natasha in was the only one lit up. Bruce had called in one of his on-call nurses to take the early morning watch, and she sat around the corner, just out of hearing range if conversation was kept to library-voices level.

They'd been there just long enough for Maria to have landed the ship wherever Tony kept it hidden and to rejoin them, and for Bruce to have taken and processed an x-ray of Natasha's femur. He'd declared that no damage beyond a bruise had been done to the bone when the shrapnel hit her. She'd be fine with rest and some rehabilitation.

Barton looked ready to collapse from relief and fatigue. Tony looked far more worried than he'd probably let on through his words. Thor and Steve looked somber, relief overwhelmed by the drop of adrenaline. Bucky had to stomp on the urge to make Steve subject himself to Bruce's tender mercies and get his arm looked at, see if that anti-personnel grenade had caused any bruises, but he knew it was unlikely. Steve had survived worse without needing medical attention. Bruises weren't anything that needed anything but maybe a Tylenol.

Nobody spoke until Pepper and Sharon joined them. Pepper went right to Tony. He shook his head at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine," he told her. "Better than fine. Spangles took a hit for me."

Pepper turned to Steve. "Do you need any medical attention?"

"No, I'm okay. The shield took most of the impact." He nodded in Bucky's direction. "I wouldn't have seen anything coming if he hadn't spotted it first."

Pepper didn't speak, just went over to Steve and hugged him, then over to Bucky to do the same. "Thank you," she said.

Bucky gave her a lopsided smile. "I told you I'd watch out for him."

Pepper took in a deep breath. "You did." She looked over at Sharon, who was hovering near the entrance to the lobby. "They're all yours," she said, walking back over to Tony.

Sharon took a place between Steve and Bucky, studying them both intently. When both men assured her that they just needed a shower and sleep, she turned to Bruce. "How's Agent Romanov doing?"

"She'll be fine," Bruce said, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt. "She lost a lot of blood, but she's recovering. Getting her to stay off her feet until I say it's time for rehab is going to be tough."

Barton made a half-laugh, half-snort of derision noise at that. "That's Natasha for you." He sighed, thunking his head back against the wall behind him. "I gotta contact Homeland, let them know the mission wasn't successful."

"Honestly, Clint, I don't think it would've been anyway," Bruce said. "Not with the level of brainwashing needed to get through those groups."

"I know," he said. "Now that I know Nat's gonna be fine, I'm just as glad we got out. The mission was compromised before it started."

"So what was going on?" Steve asked, sparing a glance at Sharon when she wrapped one arm around his.

Barton didn't answer at first, before finally tilting his head slightly to look at Steve. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Stories usually start at the beginning," Thor said. "Perhaps starting there would be best."

"Smart ass," Barton said with absolutely no heat. "SHIELD had me on mission in Syria to try to infiltrate the Islamic State. I think their logic was that I'd been brainwashed once already, I could handle it again. I wanted to give them the finger on that, but that wasn't going to work, and I knew it. So off I went.

"When SHIELD went down, Homeland inherited my mission, hooked me up with Natasha as my liason. I've spent the last couple years over there, acting as an interested party. It hasn't been that long since I took the oath before we ran into trouble."

"The other group that showed up?" Steve asked.

Barton nodded. "The Brothers of Heaven," he said. "They and pretty much anyone Muslim don't get along much."

"Never heard of them," Tony said. "Who are they?"

"Syria has a minority Christian population," Barton said, not really looking at anyone, more at the far wall. "The Brothers started as a Christian militia group to defend against the Islamic State and the various other Islamic terrorist groups in the area. It didn't take long for them to turn into a terrorist group themselves. Now, even they don't claim to come from any particular religion, they've gone so far off the deep end, that they pretty much just kill anyone who so much as utters the word Allah except to curse the name."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. "So the argument you had with Natasha over the telecomm was about them starting to cause trouble for your group?" Steve asked.

Barton stared at him for a few seconds, then a tiny LED popped on over his head. "Right, she said she was hiding Cap and his partner when the Winter Soldier stuff leaked." He shrugged. "Yeah. I told her things were getting hot, I might have to bail, she refused to let me do it without her to help. I finally gave in and let her come over."

"As your jihadi wife," Bruce guessed.

"Yeah," Barton said.

Bucky squinted at Bruce. "How do you know so much about those groups, anyway?"

"I've done humanitarian work over there," Bruce said. "I've tended to people who got out. I probably know about as much as Clint does."

Barton pointed sternly at Bruce. "And if you were anyone other than Bruce Banner, Natasha and I would both have to kick your ass for risking yourself like that."

Bruce smiled, a bit of a wry expression. "Anyone else," he said. "As it is, I think if anyone who took me captive had a brain in their head, they'd let me go really fast. The other guy might have words for them if they didn't."

Bucky leaned back in his seat, glancing at the empty seat next to him where his goggles and mask were sitting. "You know, if we could get the countries of the world to get together and hire us to take care of that little problem out there, we could make a helluva profit."

Steve made an aggravated sound. "Bucky, sometimes I think all you think about is money."

"And women," Bucky said. "But I wasn't being serious. I don't like that area, don't wanna tangle with religious groups. I try to stay far out of that kind of mess."

"Smart idea," Bruce said. Then he ran a tired hand over his face. "It's past five in the morning, I think we're all starting to head towards the 'up for twenty-four hours' mark, and after the excitement, I think we could all stand some rest. Especially you, Clint."

Barton glanced towards the room Natasha was in. "I'll rest when she's awake," he said.

"No, you'll rest now," Bruce said. "Please don't make me give you a sedative and tie you down to a bed."

Barton swore at him. "Fine. Only because I know you'd do it, though." He pushed himself up off his chair. "So do I just pick a bed here?"

"We have apartments set up for the Avengers," Pepper said. "Maria can direct you. There should be clothes in your size there, you can shower and change before laying down for awhile."

Barton looked down at himself. "Yeah. Shower. Clean clothes. Both sound nice." He looked up at Bruce. "Tell me as soon as she wakes up." He frowned like something just occurred to him. "You might want to have someone she knows with her when she wakes up. Her blood pressure might go up if she wakes up in a strange place with no familiar faces after being injured."

"Right now, I want her blood pressure to go up," Bruce said. "But I see your point. I can go a bit longer, I'll stay-"

"I'll do it," Bucky volunteered. "I can go longer than most people, and she recognized me while we were there, it might be less disorienting if it's me than if it's you."

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "If you're sure. I won't turn down a chance to sleep. But I'm going to give the same demand that Clint gave: I get woken up as soon as Natasha does."

Bucky waved him off. "I'll have the nurse call you." He looked over at Sharon, jabbing his thumb in Steve's direction. "Make sure this idiot gets sleep, he might have to take a shift if Natasha's slow to wake up."

Sharon smiled, the expression tired. Bucky had a feeling that she and Pepper were both up all night, waiting for them to get back. "You know there's no making him do anything he doesn't want to."

"Speaking of doing what I want, I'm staying up with you, Bucky," Steve said.

Before Bucky could argue, Sharon gave them both a pointed look. "I'm not going to get into this between you two, but I'm going to say that Steve's probably going to win this. And I will make you two go clean up before you stay here. I can stay long enough for you to do that, and I'm sure Doctor Banner can, too."

Bucky stared at her, then up to Steve. "Why do you always pick the bossy ones?"

Steve's expression looked like it might've been trying to be accusing, but failed. "Well, you know what they say about getting involved with people who remind us of a loved one."

"Don't blame me," Bucky snapped, then stood, grabbing his mask and goggles. "Come on, your girlfriend might actually strip us and throw us into the shower one at a time if we don't listen to her, and that sounds awkward." He looked at Bruce. "We'll be quick."

The group broke up, Maria and Clint to find Clint's apartment, Bruce and Sharon to hover near Natasha, Pepper and Tony half-leading each other out of the lobby, both looking ready for a good day's sleep. Thor bid them good night and joined the group going up to the apartments.

Bucky lay claim to the shower first, once he and Steve were home, and spent a couple minutes just scrubbing dust out of his hair, before changing into something comfortable for sitting vigil for an undetermined amount of time. He told Steve he was going down ahead while Steve showered. Steve tried to protest, but Bucky pointed out his girlfriend was going without sleep to wait for them, and the faster someone got down there to relieve her, the faster she could go to bed.

That logic seemed to work.

Sharon was pacing in slow, deliberate steps outside of Natasha's room when Bucky showed up. She stopped when she caught sight of him, walked over to him, and rested her forehead on his metal shoulder. "I'm tired," she mumbled. "Where's Steve?"

"Still showering," Bucky said, patting Sharon's shoulder. "I got this, you go sleep. You need it to keep up with us."

She made a noise around a yawn that might've been an insult. "I don't think anyone can sleep enough to keep up with you two jackasses," she said. She straightened and rubbed her eyes, smearing the make up she was still wearing.

Bucky made a point of not mentioning it.

After a bit of prodding and assurances that Steve could find his way from the apartment to the med center without her waiting for him, she left, and Bucky headed into Natasha's room. Bruce gave him a grateful smile, told him the nurse was listening for any alarms on Natasha's vitals, and all Bucky had to do was be there when she woke up to keep her from panicking.

Bucky wasn't sure she'd panic, but it'd probably be better for her nerves to see a friendly face when she woke up.

Once he was satisfied that Natasha would be okay, Bruce left to join the others in the land of sleep, and Bucky settled in a chair near Natasha's bed and waited for Steve. The EKG monitor beeped steadily, much slower than the one fifty it'd been at when Bruce declared surgery done. Bruce hadn't said anything about it before he left, so Bucky assumed it was fine.

Steve joined him a few minutes later, looking and smelling a helluva lot better than he had been when they'd landed and gotten Natasha to the med center. He flopped into the other chair in the room with a groan. "You know," he said, keeping his voice low to not disturb Natasha, "if it weren't for why we were out, I'd say it was nice to get in the uniform again and do a little good somewhere."

"We've been needing a job," Bucky agreed. "Would prefer something paying, but we might be able to weasel some payment out of Homeland for rescuing two of their operatives."

"There you go with money again," Steve said.

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve. "It means I can take care of you, so don't act like I'm just being a greedy asshole about it."

Steve gave him a weary look. "I know that's exactly why you do it," he said. "And we don't need nearly as much as you act like we do."

Bucky shrugged his right shoulder. "I like to have a nest egg. And don't tell me we have one, we've taken out over ten thousand from it recently just on those suits and shoes we had to abandon before the evening was even over. I don't like not having income coming in regularly." He sighed. "It's probably my fault. Nobody's willing to trust a former Hydra operative with their money and secret missions."

"The president said he wanted to keep us employed," Steve pointed out.

"One person, who doesn't even control half the jobs we could be getting," Bucky argued. Then he sighed again, a sound that bordered on a yawn. "We'll figure out something, I suppose. If nothing else, I can drop out of sight, you can get the jobs, I'll retire." He made a face. "Not that I want to, but people might still be more willing to trust Captain America than the Winter Soldier. Nobody was real fond of me to begin with."

Steve reached over and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop that. We're a team, we're always going to be a team. If it comes down to it, I'll see if Tony has any PR suggestions. But I think we'll be okay."

Bucky didn't answer, went back to watching Natasha's EKG monitor. "You know, you can't stay up all day, you won't sleep tonight, and you have a busy evening tomorrow."

"I'll be able to handle it," Steve said. "I'm not going to let the kids down. Do you work Monday night?"

Bucky tilted his head back, trying to count the dates. "Yeah, I do. I'll be there about four forty-five, help get things ready for when the guys come in at five. So we'll be leaving about the same time."

"It's too bad I can't get you to come with me to see the kids," Steve said. "They get really excited."

"I'll bet," Bucky said. "But I promised, and the guys need a warm place to stay and someone to keep them safe more than those kids need to see a superhero for Christmas. Not to downplay what they're going through, or anything, but-"

"I know," Steve said. "And that's your thing. The kids are mine. I can handle seeing dying kids smiling because I'm there to say hi a lot better than I could probably handle seeing a bunch of abandoned vets trying to have a meal in peace and sleep in a bed in a crowded room with no privacy."

Bucky didn't answer at first. "It's not easy, no," he admitted. "I don't always feel right sleeping in my bed after coming home from my volunteer nights. Like they deserve it more than I do."

"You deserve it just as much as they do, Buck," Steve said. "You served, you spent a long time as a POW. I think you've earned a nice bed."

"So have they."

Steve didn't seem able to come up with a reply beyond putting his hand on Bucky's right shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. Bucky reached up with his left hand and patted Steve's hand with it, then sighed and shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

They fell into silence, minutes ticking by into a half hour, then into an hour. Another hour followed, and Steve excused himself to the bathroom. Bucky glanced at the time and wished he'd thought to bring his tablet to read while keeping watch.

Steve hadn't returned yet when Natasha finally showed signs of life outside of the monitors hooked up to her, her eyes half open and groggy-looking, a pained little noise managing to work its way out of her throat.

Bucky stood and stepped over by the bed. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said quietly.

One of Natasha's eyebrows raised like she was trying to pry her eye open more than it was. "What're you doing here?" She flopped her head to the side, looking at the monitors, then looked back at Bucky. "Where's here?"

"You're at the Avengers Tower," Bucky said. "Barton called us in to rescue you guys. You gave everyone a helluva scare."

"Mm." She stretched, wincing slightly. "My leg hurts. I don't suppose Banner gave me anything for pain?"

"I'll ask the nurse if you can have any yet," he said.

"In a second," she said. "I don't wanna be knocked back out yet." She focused on the ceiling, blinking a couple times until her eyes opened a bit more than half mast. "Where's Clint?"

"Sleeping," Bucky said. "He's up in his apartment. We made him go clean up and get some rest. Steve's here, too, he just ran out for a second. We figured we super soldier types could stay up longer a bit easier than the others."

Natasha blinked a couple more times, slowly, like she was having trouble opening her eyelids back up once they'd closed. "So we're safe? Him too?"

"You're both safe," Bucky assured her. "I'll go get the nurse, you need more rest. You lost a lot of blood."

She didn't protest, except to move her leg a bit and groan in response to the movement. "I think I'm okay, but Clint and Banner both would have fits at me if I didn't pretend to need medicine."

Bucky left the room to walk over to the nurse's station. "She's awake," he told the nurse. "She's asking for more pain killers."

The nurse looked at her computer. "She's not scheduled for any more for another half hour," she said. "I can get authorization from Doctor Banner, if she's in enough pain." The nurse got up and walked around the counter, heading into Natasha's room. Bucky waited outside the door, not wanting to get in the way.

Steve rejoined him from around the corner. "She's awake?" he asked, glancing in around Bucky's shoulder.

"Yeah," Bucky said. "The nurse is checking on her now. She can't have any meds yet. I guess she's checking pain levels, see if Natasha can make it another half hour."

They got out of the way as the nurse came back out, then went back into the room. "Hey, Natasha," Steve said, beating Bucky to the bed, leaving Bucky to stand near the foot. "How're you feeling?"

"Like something stabbed my leg," she said with a faint smile. "I hear you guys got us out. Thanks. I hadn't come up with any plans to do it ourselves."

Steve smiled. "The Avengers stick together. We're a team." Then he motioned to Bucky. "Speaking of, say hi to the newest member of said team."

Natasha looked down the bed at him. "Welcome to the crazy," she said. "I don't think joining us had been your intention when you ran off to Meade. How'd that go, by the way? I left almost right after you guys."

"Spent a few days in the stockade," Bucky said. "Then Tony got on national television and saved my ass with the news about Hydra. So it's no longer a secret that I was an experiment."

Natasha frowned. "Sorry. I know that's not information you wanted out."

Bucky shrugged. "It's hurt business a bit, but so far, it seems that most people are on my side. President Ellis was a bit upset we didn't tell him before, but he says we're still on the 'will hire' list, and he's encouraging other countries to decline pressing charges. I think I'm unwelcome in Russia, though."

"So am I," she said. "No big loss, it's cold there."

"I know," Bucky said. He looked at Steve. "I should probably have the nurse put in a call to Barton, let him know Natasha's awake."

Steve frowned a second. "We'll have Bruce do it. If Bruce decides to put her back out with pain killers, there's no sense in Clint coming down here when he needs more sleep. Bruce'll be able to talk him into going back to sleep better than we can."

Bucky shrugged. "You know him, I don't."

Natasha made a distinctly unhappy noise. "Bruce better not put me back to sleep. I'm fine, nothing a bit of Tylenol won't help."

"I thought you asked for pain killers," Bucky said, giving her a frustrated look.

She gave him that smile he wasn't sure if he liked or not, but he sure missed it. "Tylenol is a pain killer. And Clint and Banner would both be mad at me if I didn't make at least a half-hearted attempt at sounding injured. My leg's fine, just need maybe a Tylenol-3 and a bit more rest."

Bucky looked at Steve. "Has she always been like this?"

Steve shrugged. "She's not as bad as I am, but yeah. After Hydra shot her in the shoulder, she took all of three Advil and went right back to work."

Something about that sounded wrong. That was the sort of healing Bucky expected out of Steve and himself, not a normal human like Natasha. He set aside that thought; god knew she was unusual, and she may not have been healed, just self-trained to fight through the pain, and had simply taken time later to finish healing properly before jumping back into life as an assassin.

Natasha looked smug. "Took out the Strike Team that had gone to take over the Security Council all by myself. In heels, no less."

"Please tell me you got Rumlow," Bucky said, voice more of a growl than he'd intended. He didn't like any of the Strike Team, but something about the way Rumlow would watch the techs work on Bucky when it came time to perform a wipe unsettled him, like the sick fuck got off on watching Bucky get tortured.

"He wasn't there," Natasha said. "Sam went to take him on."

"How is Sam still alive?" Bucky demanded, snapped, more like it, tone more aggressive than he'd intended.

Steve studied him, and Bucky sensed a Talk was being mentally prepared for having later. "Sam jumped out the window when the helicarriers went down. As far as we know, Rumlow died in the crash."

Bucky grunted in response, trying to hide how pleased the idea of Rumlow dying a painful, fiery death made him.

"You didn't like him much, did you?" Natasha asked, that damnable smile on her face, and this time, Bucky really _did_ hate it. He wasn't surprised she figured that out, not with his visible reactions, but Steve had the courtesy to not bring it up, at least.

"Did anyone?" Bucky said, trying to brush off her question.

"I did until he tried to kill me and we found out he was a Hydra agent," Steve said. Bucky gave him a pointed stare in response. Steve stared right back, before he figured out what Bucky's expression meant, giving Bucky an exasperated look. "He did it willingly, Bucky," he said. "That's different."

"Agreeing with Steve," Natasha said. "If you'd been trying to kill us of your own free will, we wouldn't be talking right now."

Bucky was saved from the conversation by Bruce speaking as he walked into the room. "That didn't take you long to wake up," he said.

Natasha glanced at Steve and Bucky, both of whom stepped back and out of the way of Bruce giving Natasha whatever treatment and/or scolding he was planning on giving her. She wrinkled her nose at them, then looked up at Bruce. "I had the best doctor treating me, and you're surprised that I'm recovering quickly?"

"Flattery doesn't become you," Bruce said. "But I'll take the compliment anyway. How're you feeling? And be honest, or I'll have Clint appeal to your guilt complex to make you cooperate."

Natasha gave him a look of extreme consternation. "That's not fair. But since you're twisting my arm, my leg hurts, my toes are cold, and I could probably stand some Percocet, but I'd prefer some Tylenol and a pair of crutches so I can get out of this bed."

"Your preferences are being considered and are overruled," Bruce said. "You lost a lot of blood. The transfusions helped with that, but you had a major artery severed, it's going to take awhile for it to finish healing, and you risk tearing it back open if you try to push yourself before it's had that chance."

"You drive a hard bargain, Banner," she said. "But fine. I'll take the Percocet. And maybe a heated blanket. And my toes are still cold."

Bruce frowned. "How cold?"

"Like walking around an apartment at night with the heat on low and no slippers. Not unbearable, but I'd like socks or something."

Bruce nodded. "Okay, that's not bad. I was worried there might be a blood flow problem."

She shook her head. "No, just plain old 'it's cold out and I want socks' cold. I've done the whole injury thing a few times, I know better than to dismiss unusual symptoms."

"Good," he said. "That makes my job easier."

"She's actually making someone's job easier?" Barton's voice said from the doorway, and the other three men turned.

Natasha lifted her head. "I don't recall asking for your commentary."

"You're getting it anyway," Barton said, walking in. He stopped next to Bruce. "How is she?"

"I'm right here."

Bruce ignored Natasha. "Her vitals are good, she isn't reporting anything problematic. She just needs some Percocet and a heated blanket and some more rest. The medicine's probably going to knock her back out, so I'd say hi, and then go get proper rest. She'll be okay, she just needs time to heal. If anything about that changes, we'll let you know."

Barton gave Natasha a stern stare. "If you don't toe the line of the doctor's orders, Agent, there will be hell to pay."

Natasha graced him with an expression as sour as milk a month past the 'good by' date. "We're not on mission anymore, you don't get to order me around."

"Natasha."

She let out a heartfelt sigh. "Only because you asked so sweetly." She looked at Bucky. "I hope Steve gives you half this much trouble."

Bucky rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Only half?"

Steve, of course, didn't sound at all sorry. "If you listened to him, he'd say twice as much, easily. I maintain that I am not that bad."

"The hell you aren't," Bucky retorted.

Barton studied them a moment, then turned back to Natasha. "If you don't listen to me, I'll sic Cap on you."

"I already said I'd behave," Natasha said. "Now, all of you, go away. Bruce is going to put me back to sleep for awhile, and I don't need three of the seven dwarfs keeping watch over my glass coffin."

"Maybe not, but Doc's going to stick around until one of his relief pitchers shows up," Bruce said. "You can kick out Grumpy, Dopey and Sleepy, though."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Did I just get renamed to 'Grumpy'?"

"Better than being renamed Dopey," Steve said, frowning.

Barton gave one more look to Natasha, then over to Steve and Bucky. "I'll willingly claim 'Sleepy'." He stifled a yawn. "She'll be fine, which means I can go rest without sitting by the phone."

"Aw, you care," Natasha said.

The conversation stopped briefly as the nurse entered, a syringe of what Bucky assumed was Natasha's pain killer in hand. They watched quietly as she screwed the syringe into the injection port on the IV line and began to administer the Percocet. The nurse looked at them. "Don't let me stop you," she said with a smile. "I don't tell Avengers secrets, that's why I was hired."

"I just didn't want to interrupt your work, ma'am," Steve said. He looked at Bucky. "We can probably go get some sleep ourselves now." He looked at Natasha. "We got kicked out in pretty clear terms."

"Yes, you did," Natasha said. "So did you, Clint. Go sleep, I'll be fine."

The three men that were being banished out said good night to Bruce and 'get better or else' to Natasha, then left, each yawning in turn as the curse spread from Barton, then to Bucky, then finally to Steve. Barton looked ready to fall over from fatigue, and possibly hunger.

"When was the last time you ate?" Bucky asked Barton, as they stopped at the elevators and waited for one to hit their floor.

He looked at Bucky in confusion, then rolled his head back to look at the ceiling. "Yesterday sometime. I don't have a damn clue when, time zones are a bitch and I'm tired enough to not try to count them. Why?"

Bucky glanced up at Steve, silently asking permission to make them all stay up a bit longer, and Steve shrugged in response. Close enough, as far as Bucky was concerned, and he turned back to Barton. "I'm too tired to cook, but we have some Finnish Pulla I made yesterday, you should get something in you before you sleep for the next ten hours. You'll have a helluva headache from the blood sugar crash when you wake up, otherwise."

Barton looked at the elevator when it pinged, and stepped in, followed by Bucky and Steve. "What's Finnish Pulla?"

"It's a type of sweet bread I make around Christmas," Bucky said. "As long as you're not allergic to milk, it should be okay. And if you're allergic to milk, I need to know now before I plan dinner for Christmas. Tony volunteered me for an Avengers party."

Barton shook his head, watching Steve hit the floor button. "Tony's good at volunteering people." Then he shrugged. "Won't turn down free food, I guess. Might be nice to have something not from Syria for awhile. I don't mind the food there, but after a few years without any variety, I'm ready for something else."

"I'll keep that in mind for Christmas, too," Bucky said. "I hadn't planned on anything from that region, anyway."

Barton leaned back against the back wall of the elevator. "Do we get the traditional goose, like in A Christmas Carol?"

"I hope that wasn't sarcasm," Bucky said, "because I'd been leaning towards goose, actually."

A second or two passed, wherein Barton looked like he was trying to parse what was said. "Is goose actually any good?"

Bucky shrugged. "My family liked it, growing up. So did Steve and his mom. I figured everyone could use a break from ham and turkey."

Barton quirked a smile. "Be nice to that ham, I grew up with it."

"A lot of people did," Bucky said. "Which is why you need a change of pace."

"Works for me," Barton said. "I have a feeling, come Christmas, we're all going to be ready for a change of pace." He suddenly stared at Bucky as if seeing him for the first time. "We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I don't have the slightest clue who you are. I've heard the name 'Winter Soldier' before, anyone worth their salt in the intelligence community has, but we all thought he was a boogeyman. Is that a borrowed name?"

Bucky shook his head. "No, I'm the real one. Name's Bucky Barnes, I'm Steve's friend from before the war. Long story how I stuck around so long. It involves Hydra and mad scientists, and you have definitely been out of the world for awhile if you hadn't heard that I came back around and stopped being the monster under the bed."

Barton snorted. "Hydra. Because everyone loves them. I can only imagine it involved experimentation, and that already puts me on your side in whatever story you're going to tell me. And you can tell me over that sweet bread of yours."


	15. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stop being such a fussbudget. You made the food for me, and I like it. And if you don't like yours, give it to me, I'll eat it."
> 
> "Touch my food and I stab your hand with my fork."
> 
> "Careful, Peter, he'll do it, too. He stabbed Tony's cheeseburger once."

While Steve slept just enough that day to put himself on a proper diurnal schedule, Bucky elected to stay on a third shift sleep cycle, since he worked overnight on Monday night. They didn't see each other much on Monday as a result, but they had an early dinner that evening, then parted ways to do their respective charity work.

Bucky had the work phone with him, Steve had their personal, and at about eight that night, the phone buzzed in his pocket. He grabbed it and looked at the caller ID just long enough to see it was Steve calling. Worried that something had gone wrong, he backed towards the kitchen, away from the sleeping vets, before answering it. "Please tell me one of the hospitals didn't blow up, Steve."

"You would've heard the explosion," a woman's voice said, and Bucky just barely recognized her as the reporter. "I borrowed your phone, I hope you don't mind. But I had a feeling you'd want to hear something. We're at St. John's Children's Hospital, and Captain Rogers felt the need to speak to the administration staff that was here for press opportunities. I suspect that they aren't getting good press with this."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did he say?"

"Listen for yourself," she said, and a few seconds later, he could hear Steve's voice- obviously recorded, but still clear -over the line.

"I almost didn't come here tonight," Steve said. "I wasn't happy with the fact that my best friend was pointedly made unwelcome. It was Bucky who convinced me to come, more worried about the kids than you guys. It's a cold day in hell when a former assassin cares more about these kids than the administrators of a children's hospital. If you want me back next year, he's welcome, or I'm not."

With an audible groan, Bucky rubbed his forehead with his metal hand. "Miss Soll, please tell Steve that I said he's an idiot."

"Will do, Mister Barnes. Have a Merry Christmas!"

She hung up.

Bucky toured the island a bit after he left the shelter, hoping, rather in vain, to find something he could give his brother for Christmas, and no, damnit, just cooking dinner for him did not count. But he realized that he honestly had no idea what to get Peter. He had no idea what movies or books he'd be interested in that he might not already have, what hobbies he might've picked up since Bucky died, or anything, really. Peter had introduced him to a lot of the family through pictures and stories, but nothing about himself. Other than the facts that Peter was a former Navy officer, had been with his partner for over fifty years, and that he'd converted to Christianity somewhere along the way, Bucky knew nothing of the man his brother had become.

Depressed about this fact, he hailed a cab and returned to the Tower empty-handed.

Another handful of days passed, until Christmas Eve swung around. Bucky had raided the local butcher shops for goose and duck, and had his kitchen stocked almost more than it could hold, and given its size, that took some work. And that wasn't even half of what he needed to feed ten people, three with accelerated metabolisms.

Tony found out that he was storing food for the Avengers Christmas party that he'd been volunteered to cook for and immediately had it moved to one of the kitchens that handled the various functions hosted at Stark Tower. That freed up Bucky's cupboards for normal groceries.

And another box of snack cakes. They wouldn't be around much longer, after all.

Bucky started lunch early, the recipe he'd chosen took awhile to cook. "Peter had better appreciate this," he grumbled in Steve's direction as the clock ticked towards ten, when Peter should be arriving. "This recipe is annoying."

"Because you hate a chance to try complicated dishes," Steve said. "Tell me you didn't try to find the hardest roast duck dish to make."

"Did not," Bucky said. "I've found harder. I've made something similar to this, it's just been so long, I don't remember what the hell I'm doing. But Peter wanted me to cook roast duck for him, so he's getting roast duck. So yes, he'd better appreciate it."

"Keep trying to be annoyed," Steve said. "I'm almost convinced."

Bucky pulled the duck from the oven and poured a white wine mixture over it before returning it to the oven and turning down the heat. He felt agitated. He had absolutely nothing to give his brother, who had become damn near a stranger over the last seventy years, besides a decent lunch that Peter had requested. That food had become a mission, and it was taking some of the fun out of cooking for him.

"You really _are_ in a bad mood, aren't you?" Steve asked, sounding surprised.

Able to spare a minute to do so, Bucky turned to face Steve, leaning back against the counter. "No, not in a bad mood. Just focusing on a complicated recipe that I haven't made in decades so I don't serve my only surviving sibling shit food for Christmas."

"So you're nervous," Steve supplied. "Relax. Peter's going to be happy just to see you."

Bucky tapped one metal finger on his flesh arm, arms crossed. "He deserves better than to travel all the way from Annapolis in cold weather for a burned or bland duck."

"Your cooking is fine," Steve said. "Stop worrying so much, or else you'll make Peter miserable. He'll pick up on your nerves."

"Not helping," Bucky said, the tapping finger stopping as the whole hand curled into a frustrated fist and took up the finger's job of tapping against his flesh arm. He knew Steve was right, Peter was a sharp kid, or had been, at one time, and there it was again, that internal reminder that he knew nothing of his brother now. He bit back a sigh. He'd been fine with it before, figured he'd catch up easily, had fooled himself into thinking that the two would just slip back into old times, because while Bucky had changed, he could hide what had changed about him for short visits.

He'd forgotten to notice that Peter had changed, too.

"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS spoke up. "But Mister Peter Barnes has arrived and is on his way up the elevator from the garage now."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said, packing up his pencils and his sketch book. He put them away on the bookcase and looked at Bucky. "You're going to calm down and enjoy Christmas Eve with your brother." At Bucky's frown, Steve walked over and put a hand on Bucky's metal shoulder. "Seriously, Buck, settle down. Having you back is gift enough for both him and I." He motioned to the presents under the tree that were wrapped in godawful Captain America wrapping paper. "You didn't even have to get me those. He asked for the meal, that's what he wants. And your cooking is good, it always is. So relax, okay?"

Steve's little speech wasn't doing much to calm Bucky's nerves on the main subject bouncing around in his brain, but it calmed him down about the quality of his food, anyway.

"You got me presents first," Bucky said. "I can't let you go without having to suffer my unique gift-giving abilities."

Steve rolled his eyes, dropping his hand. "I remember the snow down my shirt."

"I wasn't talking about that," Bucky said. "That was once, and I never did it again when it triggered an asthma attack. I was talking about the book of inappropriate jokes that your mother damn near banned me from the house over."

"I remember that book," Steve said. "Mom had a fit."

JARVIS's voice announced Peter's presence at the door about a half a second before a knock drowned him out. Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before Steve walked over and opened the door. "You know," Steve said, "JARVIS can let us know you're here. You didn't need to knock."

"I'm more low class than I thought," Peter said, stepping in past Steve. He was bundled under an old Navy coat, with his gloves sticking out of his right pocket, and two wrapped presents under one arm. "I don't like the idea of being announced like some important, high society old fart." He turned his attention to the kitchen, just barely reacting to Steve's offer to take his coat, sniffing the air pointedly. "I see your skills in the kitchen are still to be envied." He handed off his coat to Steve to be put in the coat closet.

"Taste remains to be seen," Bucky said. He did his best to recognize little Peter past the age-weathered face, the wrinkles, the grayed hair. It was the eyes that looked familiar, still blue and bright and intelligent.

Peter scoffed at him. "If it tastes half as good as it smells, it'll be your culinary masterpiece." He studied the open living area. "This is a nice place. Mister Stark went all out for you guys." He motioned to the tree with the gifts. "Mind if I put these under there?"

"Go ahead," Bucky said, watching and hoping his brother would notice the Old Glory theme and give Steve a sideways look for it.

Peter did not disappoint. He stopped, staring at the tree, examining every square inch of the ten foot monstrosity. "Decided to be patriotic this year?"

Steve made an aggravated noise. "Tony thought he was funny," he said, sitting down at the table. "Come on, put the presents down and come sit at the table. Easier to talk to the guy in the kitchen from here."

Peter crouched down, pausing with the gifts midway to the ground. "Is Mister Stark to blame for the wrapping paper, too?"

There was that noise from Steve again, and Bucky couldn't help snickering. "That's your brother's fault. Everyone around here thinks they're a comedian."

"I see my brother hasn't changed much," Peter said, joining Steve at the table.

Bucky wished there was something immediate to do for the duck that he could hide behind. He'd changed more than Peter realized, but Peter made a point, to an extent; much of what people around him were allowed to see was the same Bucky as ever.

Peter, on the other hand, was a stranger.

"Just because I'm old doesn't mean I have to grow up," Bucky said, throwing on a smile like a security blanket.

"A Barnes family tradition," Peter said. "Mom and Dad were the same way. So were Paul and Rebecca. Mary inherited more from Paul than anyone cared for. Some of the other nieces and nephews escaped the curse, but most of them stayed children forever."

"And I suppose you just grew up into this paragon of maturity," Bucky said.

"Hell no," Peter said. "I had nieces and nephews to teach bad things to, sugar up, and then send home to our adoring brother and sister. Hard to be the fun uncle when you've got a stick up your ass."

Bucky shut the dirty joke in his mind up right away. That was his baby brother, fer chrissakes.

Something on his face must've betrayed that thought, though, because Peter immediately pointed at him. "Say it, and I'll have you scrubbing decks until you're a hundred."

Okay, fine, since Peter wanted to make it come up, Bucky would run with it. "Considering that's only a couple years away, I think that threat holds less water than your little tugboats. And I didn't say it. I tried to not even think it. You weren't a teenager yet when I last saw you, I haven't gotten used to the 'we're both adults and can talk about adult things together' thing yet. Say something smart, and I might have to make a comment about that mouth of yours, though."

Peter dropped his hand, head tilted back in laughter. "Oh, I have missed you, Bucky." He pointed to a chair next to him. "I don't suppose the bird can be left alone for awhile so you can come join us?"

Bucky glanced at his oven timer, then brought his tablet out of sleep to check the recipe again. "I've got about forty-five minutes, yeah." He put his tablet back to sleep and set it down on a counter not being used for food preparation, and joined Steve and Peter back at the table. "So what're your plans for the rest of the holiday?"

Peter sat back. "Well, tonight's the candlelight service at church. I don't generally go to Christmas morning service, though. The family gets together too early, and most of them aren't religious, so church doesn't get worked around much. I figure, God probably understands. He gave me the family, I'd better take care of it."

"What about on Christmas? You said the family gets together. At your place?" Bucky mentally calculated how many people could comfortably fit in Peter's house. There'd been a fairly sizable dining room with an equally sizable table, but the living room had been sparsely furnished. There might've been more to the house that Bucky simply hadn't seen, though. A family room, maybe, or a finished basement.

"Most of them, yes," Peter said. "Paul's kids and their kids, same with Rebecca's. Frank had a little brother who comes by with his wife and their daughter for part of the afternoon. Eric and Frank's parents passed away when they were young, so Frank and I were his only family for awhile. He and his wife never had a problem with us, their kids just think of me as Uncle Peter."

"Good," Bucky said. "I know people can be dickholes about that subject."

Peter smiled. "I got lucky," he admitted. "Not all people are." He shrugged. "But enough of that, what plans do you two have for Christmas?"

Bucky almost protested; he _wanted_ to know more about his brother, he wanted to ask questions, to hear Peter talk about the years that Bucky missed. But Peter obviously wasn't interested, so he set aside his thought on that and decided to just answer the question. "I'm volunteering tonight at a local homeless shelter that deals with vets," he said. "I've been working there a couple weeks now. Tomorrow, Tony is gathering all of the Avengers close and making me feed us while he douses everyone in alcohol."

"As long as he doesn't set you on fire after that dousing," Peter said. "How'd you get volunteered to cook?"

"He volunteered himself," Steve said before Bucky could say anything. At Bucky's dirty look, Steve raised an eyebrow. "Deny it. You said outright that you needed to have friends for you to cook for. You have friends, you're cooking for them."

Peter chuckled. "And I'm sure you're so heartbroken over it. I know you better than that."

Bucky stared at him a moment, biting back bitter thoughts. Peter obviously didn't know him well enough to realize that Bucky would want to hear about his life, not well enough to realize how badly Hydra ripped apart his brain. It may have seemed to Peter that Bucky had recovered, but Steve would probably laugh at him if he suggested it. Peter knew pre-Hydra Bucky. Just because Bucky had a lot in common with how he'd been now that he'd recovered somewhat didn't mean that Peter knew him as much as he seemed to think.

Bucky shook his head. "You got me," he said. He looked over at his timer. _Please, for the love of god, say it's time to do something._ No, not time to get up. And unlike at the apartment in DC, excusing himself to the bathroom wouldn't put him out of sight until he was actually in the bathroom, and eavesdropping from in there wasn't easy. He'd be better off not hearing whatever Steve might tell Peter to reassure him that everything was a-okay, but not knowing that variable wouldn't help Bucky figure out how to approach the day.

He got up. "It occurs to me that I'm wearing too nice of a shirt to be cooking in, when my recipe warns me that the sauce is basically going to spit at me while it boils. I'll be right back."

Not quite as smooth as an excuse to the bathroom, but it allowed him a bit more time to regroup than the bathroom would grant him.

Peter and Steve were quiet behind him as he stepped into his room and shut the door. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door. _I can't do this,_ he thought. When he first found out Peter was alive, there'd been nothing on his mind more than wanting to see what was left of his family, wanting to see that one last tie to the world he'd grown up in, to be there for Peter where he hadn't been for Paul and Rebecca. Now, the reality of what that meant was starting to settle in, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"JARVIS, I have a feeling you don't like spying, and if you can't or won't, tell me, but what the hell are they saying out there?" he asked, voice low.

"Captain Rogers is assuring your brother that you are merely nervous, and that the two of you have recently had quite a bit of stress to deal with. He is not giving details, however," JARVIS answered, his voice quiet and apparently limited to just Bucky's room.

"Good enough," Bucky said, pushing away from his door. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"Any time, sir," JARVIS said.

Bucky grabbed an old shirt that he'd been holding onto since his days in the streets, a basic black turtleneck that wasn't nearly as warm, comfortable, or serviceable as the shirt worn under his tactical gear, but it was perfect for what he needed. It didn't matter much if it got a bit of orange sauce splash on it, without looking like it was ready for the garbage. He had more class than to walk around a Christmas dinner with family in a shirt better suited in a trailer park in the south.

When Peter and Steve both turned to look at him upon returning to the living area, Bucky stopped and scowled. "I'm not on a runway, I'm not doing a pirouette to show off my shiny new clothes," he said.

Steve shook his head, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

Peter wasn't bothering to try. "You're not fabulous enough to pull that off convincingly anyway," he said.

Bucky tilted his head, chin lowered and staring at Peter over the tip of his nose. "I would make the worst gay man ever, and you know it. I like looking at tits too much." He rejoined Peter and Steve at the table. "One of these times, it's gonna get me slapped."

"As if it hadn't in the past?" Steve asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I learned how to be subtle about it," Bucky said. "But I'm out of practice. I have a feeling it'll take a knock or two to relearn it." He leaned his elbows on the table. "The question is, are _you_ subtle enough to not earn a smack from Sharon for it?"

Steve was thoughtful. "Sharon might not mind, actually."

"Who's Sharon?" Peter asked, looking between Bucky and Steve.

Bucky nodded in Steve's direction. "Steve's new girlfriend, and I'm hoping this one sticks, because I like her, and he'd be stupid to let her go."

"She's put up with protecting my dumb ass for how long now? I think she's likely to stick around," Steve said.

"I never thought you'd get a girl," Peter said. "Not with all the trouble you had way back when."

Steve shrugged. "I had some chemical help getting my foot through the door with women."

Bucky made a point of checking the oven timer again, silently stepping away from the conversation without leaving the table. Fortunately for his nerves, Steve picked up on the hint and took over the conversation, and Bucky marveled at how they could talk about a lot of nothing as if nothing had changed in the last seventy years. Maybe Steve had figured out what had Bucky wound up so tight about the day, and was trying to get around Peter's dodging tactics and what was coming out was a big zilch. Maybe Steve and Peter both failed to notice what was wrong in the first place.

Maybe the problem was that Bucky was too good at pretending what was wrong wasn't really what was wrong. He wasn't sure when that started. He used to be a lot more honest about himself.

The conversation continued until Bucky was forced to leave the table to tend to the food, mixing the sauce, which, as promised, bubbled and spat at him. Nothing got on him, but he was just as glad he'd thought to change his shirt. The duck was finished before the sauce, but it was hot enough that it had to cool while he finished making the sauce with the pan juices.

After a few minutes of letting the sauce thicken and the bird cool, Bucky declared lunch done and told Steve and his brother that they were grown men, they could come dish their own damn plates.

They both declared Bucky just bursting with the Christmas spirit for that.

Bucky only picked at his food at first. He was bumping up against brick walls for conversations topics, and saying 'thanks' to Peter's compliments on the cooking wasn't much to run off of. Fortunately, eating seemed to occupy the others' mouths.

"Something wrong?" Peter asked.

Bucky looked up, blinking owlishly at him. "Hm? Oh, fine." He frowned at his food. "Something doesn't taste right to me, that's all."

"It tastes fine to me," Steve said, looking across the table at Bucky's plate.

"It's a different recipe than what you used to make," Peter said. "But the quality's fine. Stop being such a fussbudget. You made the food for me, and I like it. And if you don't like yours, give it to me, I'll eat it."

Bucky gave Peter a dirty look. "Touch my food and I stab your hand with my fork."

"Careful, Peter," Steve said, "he'll do it, too. He stabbed Tony's cheeseburger once."

"He was upsetting Mama," Bucky argued. "Nobody's ever going to forgive me for that, are they?"

"'Mama'? Who's 'Mama'?" Peter asked, looking confused.

"She owns a restaurant in DC," Bucky said. "Inherited the business and the name from her grandmother, who opened the place back in the forties. Sweet woman, cute, miss her like hell. Would've asked her out, but by the time things got settled about my identity, Tony was moving us up here."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Does she have a name?"

Bucky nodded. "She does, but she keeps it secret, so I'm not telling you."

"Then I won't ask," Peter said.

Peter insisted upon making Steve and Bucky open their gifts from him after Steve had cleared away the dinner dishes and ran the dishwasher. Since he was up, Steve fetched the two presents from under the tree and set them on the table.

"I hope you know this isn't fair," Steve said, looking at his. "I don't have anything for you at all."

"Life's not fair," Peter said. "It's not much more than a token anyway. Just open it."

Steve was fastidious about unwrapping presents; he had to unfold each one, as if the paper had to be saved to be reused. At one point in his life, it did, and it was a habit he never got out of. It was sometimes frustrating to watch.

"Oh hey, a new sketchbook," Steve said, pulling said sketchbook from the folds of perfectly unwrapped paper. "Thanks, I was needing a new one."

Bucky decided it was a good thing that he hadn't gotten one for Steve himself. Steve went through them fast sometimes, but repeat gifts were horrible, and Bucky would feel bad about having given one.

"It's not much, I wasn't sure if you needed one," Peter said. "Took a gamble. I don't know what it is you do these days."

Bucky chewed on his tongue to keep the accusation wanting to form from spitting itself out.

Peter looked like an excited kid, turning to Bucky. "Your turn, big brother. It's nothing fancy, don't think I outdid myself or anything, but I had to get you something. Seventy years of gift giving to catch up on."

Bucky made a point of picking up the package and shaking it. It didn't clatter, as he rather expected. It felt like a couple of paperbacks stacked together.

Peter gave him a tired look. "Bucky."

Bucky grinned, shrugging. "Just checking," he said, then looked at Steve. "You still don't know how to properly unwrap a gift. You're supposed to tear it."

"You're a barbarian," Steve said as Bucky ripped into the wrapping paper, leaving it in pieces on the table.

"Better than being a priss," Bucky said, examining his present. Plural, actually. The next three books in the Dresden Files, which didn't really surprise him. "I've been wanting to read the next one." He eyed his brother. "But I seem to recall someone saying I didn't get to get them for myself."

"Damn right you don't," Peter said. "Don't worry, I won't make you wait for only birthdays and Christmas, but Christmas was so close, I figured I could cheat a bit on your present. I wasn't sure what else to get you."

"That's okay," Steve said. "I had trouble finding something for him. If it's not books or guns, he's not interested."

"You could always get me a subscription to Playboy," Bucky said, not at all seriously. At the disapproving looks that earned him, he shrugged. "Just a thought."

"Okay, so books, guns, and women," Peter said. "That's not much to go on, you know."

Bucky bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, before deciding to throw his building temper tantrum because hell, why not? At least he'd be being honest. "I had less to go on for you," he said. "I don't know anything about you."

Steve immediately sat back, clearly trying to get out of the crossfire without disappearing from where he could step in if absolutely necessary. It rarely was a good idea to get between two arguing Barnes men, but sometimes there wasn't much choice.

Peter stared, mouth slightly agape, hurt apparent in those clear blue eyes that Bucky had missed so much. Of all the things that had changed, those eyes had stayed the same and Bucky almost braced himself to hear a preteen boy yell 'I'm telling Mom!' at him. What he got instead, was "that's not fair of you."

"What was that you said about life not being fair?" Bucky said. "I _looked_ for something for you, but I know precisely three things about you. You were a Navy officer, you were with a man for over fifty years, and you go to church now. I know more about Sharon and I just met her a month ago."

"You could just _ask_ ," Peter said, clearly trying to remain the calm brother.

"I _have_ asked," Bucky said. "I've tried to get you to talk about yourself, and you've always just told me about the family, or gotten me to talk about what's been going on in my life, with Steve and Steve's girlfriend and the Avengers. You're not the only one who's missed the last seventy years, and unlike me, you spent those years _living_. You've changed, and I never got to see it, never got a chance to know you." He rested his elbows on the table, his forehead in his hands. "You're not the only brother in this, you know." He took a deep breath. "And that statement goes to me, too. I kinda thought catching up would be easy." He looked down at the table, clenching his jaw. "Sorry," he finally said. "I know Steve told you earlier that it's been stressful around here, and he's right, it kinda has."

Peter leaned forward and placed his hand lightly on Bucky's flesh arm. "No, you're right," he said. "I've been so caught up in having you back that I forgot you had me back, too. With what Hydra did making you look the same as I last saw you, it's like looking at an old photograph and I suddenly forget that I'm not that kid anymore."

Bucky dropped his flesh arm onto the table, still resting his forehead on his metal hand, and patted Peter's arm. "It's fine, Peter," he said. "At your age, I expect your memory to be going." He offered his brother a lopsided smile in form of a truce.

Peter grumped at him. "You're still older." He sat back. "Is that what's really been bothering you all day?"

"Last few days, actually," Bucky said. "I tried to find a gift for you a few days ago after I got done at the shelter and couldn't even think of where to start. Walking around Manhattan didn't give me any ideas."

"I've wondered what's been wrong," Steve said. "But you never tell me anything."

Bucky shrugged weakly. "At least I'm better than I used to be about that."

"I can't deny that."

Peter studied Bucky. "You never used to be shy about saying what was on your mind."

"That was before Hydra," Bucky said. "Leave it at that."

At first, Peter didn't answer, and Bucky worried that his brother might explode from anger, looking like a lit stick of dynamite, then the tension drained out of his shoulders. "Well, I suppose we'd both best be getting to know each other, then. But you're right, there's probably more to learn about me, and I know that what there is to know about you, you won't tell me, and I think my blood pressure might thank you for that." He smiled. "So we've got another hour or so, let's not waste it."

The rest of Peter's visit went by much smoother, the three men moving their visit to the more comfortable couches- "why are we always at the table when we have nice couches?" Steve had demanded -the only pause in conversation being when Bucky remembered that he had cookies he'd baked the day before to share that had been their mother's recipe, and bagged a dozen for Peter to take home with him. And one to eat while he was there, of course.

The drive between Manhattan and Annapolis was about three and a half hours, give or take, and with Christmas traffic, closer to four was more accurate. Peter wanted to be back in time for church service, that meant being back by five, which meant Peter had to leave around one.

Peter eyed his watch as it hit about twelve forty-five. "It's almost one, my ride should be ready in a few minutes. If I want to make it to church, I suppose I'd better go." He looked like he was seriously considering changing his mind about church.

"Go get your coat on," Bucky said. "There'll be other visits. Christmas services only come once a year."

"How about I take you back?" Steve said. "I'll have JARVIS let your chauffeur know that you've got another way home. I can go to service with you."

Peter looked surprised. "That'll put you home awfully late."

Steve shrugged. "It's not like I'll be keeping him up late with worry," he said, sticking his thumb out at Bucky. "He volunteers tonight, he's going to be gone by five and not home until almost ten in the morning."

"Yeah, don't worry, I won't be sitting at home, the worrying housewife," Bucky said. "I'm going to use the opportunity to catch a nap guilt-free, since Steve's going with. I have a Christmas party to cook for tomorrow, and not a lot of time to sleep between coming home and having to start on that, so any I can get now is good."

"All right then," Peter said. He looked Steve over. "You're not planning on wearing that, are you?"

Steve looked down at himself, his decent sweatshirt and jeans. "Nope," he said, getting up. "I'll go change. Give me a minute, then we can leave."

Bucky walked Peter to the door while they waited for Steve. "Make that idiot stay there if he's too tired to drive home after service," he said to his brother.

"Of course," Peter said. "Look, I'm sorry-"

Bucky shook his head. "Don't," he said. "It's something we should've both brought up before now. We're fixing it, that's what matters." He smiled. "Hey. Merry Christmas, Peter."

Peter's clear blue eyes took on a distinct sheen, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Bucky."

Steve joined them a couple minutes later, and Bucky bid them good night. Once JARVIS told him that they'd reached the garage, Bucky took it on safe assumption that they weren't coming back up for anything and went to his room to nap before a long Christmas day.


	16. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Merry Christmas, Barnes. You get home to that friend that needs you, enjoy the holiday."
> 
> "Merry Christmas, Ella. I'd better not see you here again."
> 
> "God willing."

Bucky got to the shelter a bit early, just to help the kitchen workers set up. The Christmas Eve dinner was a big deal for the vets, which meant a little extra love was tossed into the meal. And that meant extra hands were needed. They technically had enough people, but Bucky didn't like standing by idle while others were working.

"We have more people show up for the meal on Christmas Eve," Jennie said. "Will you go out and try to count how many people we have, and make sure everyone knows that only the first hundred and thirty-six get beds, but we can accommodate up to two hundred for the meal?"

"Consider it done," Bucky said, and headed outside. There was already a sizeable line, and Bucky walked down until he got to number one twenty-eight and stared at her. "I see you're back," he said.

Ella smiled. "Yeah. Got a reason for it. I'll tell ya inside. Get back to counting, Sergeant."

Bucky gave her a rude gesture in reply before continuing down the line. Once he'd counted out the lucky one hundred thirty-six people they had beds for, he let the others know behind them that there weren't enough beds. He then counted up to a hundred and ninety before the line stopped. He waited until the vets were let inside, but only another two showed up. That filled them almost to capacity. He decided to stay by the door once everyone was in to see if the last eight would show up before the food was all gone.

Some of the men prayed before eating, as was normal, but it seemed more of them did this time. There were some familiar faces in the group, a lot of unfamiliar ones, like they took turns out there to make sure everyone got an occasional hot meal and warm bed. Just like a proper unit taking care of each other.

Ella being there meant Bucky got assigned to bodyguard duty again, and John volunteered to take over the remaining security position that Bucky had to vacate.

"Are you sure?" Jennie asked.

John nodded. "Yeah, I'll just tell Mom we're bumping Christmas morning back an hour or two. She won't mind, she and Paul aren't exactly crack-of-dawn risers anyway."

"Bless you," Jennie said. "Tell them I said Merry Christmas and thank you for understanding."

"Mind if I go call them now?" he asked.

"By all means," Jennie said, then looked at Bucky. "Think you can hold the front line while he's doing that?"

Bucky grinned. "I've herded tougher groups than this," he said. "It's not like it'll take him long."

Jennie smiled. "Thank you so much, Mister Barnes. Excuse me, I have a kitchen to tend to."

Bucky wondered how long it'd take to convince Jennie to call him 'Bucky' instead of 'Mister Barnes'. At least she wasn't calling him 'Sergeant', though.

Dinner passed without any incidents, and Ella remained safe under Bucky's watchful eye. She had him get permission for her to use the showers again. He stood guard at the showers while she cleaned up, returning five minutes later with her hair in a wet braid instead of the pony tail he'd only ever seen her in.

"So what's this reason you have for coming here tonight?" he asked her once she was sitting on her bed, not ready for bed, not by a long shot, but just relaxing and enjoying having a holiday off the streets.

Ella didn't answer at first, listening to the other vets talk, and singing along a bit when some broke out into old carols. "I took your advice," she said after a few minutes. "I have a job interview tomorrow with the VA. They're looking to hire me." She looked up at him with a smile. "So I wanted to make sure I got a shower and into my new clothes I picked up with some of the money you gave me. Looks like I'm finally getting out of here."

Bucky frowned. "Tomorrow's Christmas, how are you getting interviewed tomorrow?"

"Sergeant Lewis is doing it personally, invited me to his family dinner and everything," she said. "I think you directing me to him made him happy enough to spend some of his holiday helping another vet out. It's getting me off the streets, if this goes well. And I got you to thank for it. So Merry Christmas, Barnes. You're a good man."

Bucky made a point of showing nothing but a smile, kept in the desire to cry; he had done someone some good. Someone was getting a new lease on life because of him. After spending so many years taking down innocent people, and the last two only trying to make up for it with more kills, it left a warm feeling all over to know that he was repairing someone's life without having to put blood on his hands to do it.

"Merry Christmas, Ella." He motioned towards the other vets, most of them singing carols at this point. "Why don't you join them?"

"Only if you do," she said.

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "I don't sing. I'm no good at it. I kinda warble more than sing."

Ella raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you hearing these guys? You're not exactly in a professional choir here. But, okay. Hope you don't mind if I do my own warbling for awhile. Seems Christmas is the only time I can interact with the guys without worrying for my safety." She looked up at him. "Did they really stop all fighting back in your war when Christmas came around?"

"Don't make me older than I already am," Bucky said, grumpy. "That was the Great War. The Christmas Truce happened three years before I was even born. Believe me, the soldiers wanted it to happen again, but it wasn't really that much of a thing in the second world war."

"Mm. Sorry. History was never my strong suit. Anyway, you be Mister Stoic Bodyguard, I'm going to enjoy what is hopefully my last Christmas out here with these guys."

The night passed quietly, the singing eventually tapering off into snores and the occasional vet getting up and shuffling to the bathroom before flopping back on their bed. In the kitchen, Bucky could faintly hear Jennie humming O Holy Night.

Morning came with a large breakfast, other vets again invited in for the meal. Ella made a point of sitting near the men that morning, making Bucky's work a bit more difficult, but as with the night before, the men were behaving. After her food was gone, Ella made a pit stop in the bathroom and emerged in a fairly nice sweater and leggins, far nicer than anything he'd seen anyone who came into the shelter wearing before. She had her hair done up in the curls they'd dried in with her braid.

Bucky couldn't help but smile. "You look good."

She returned the smile, doing a turn around. "So I pass inspection, sir?"

"You outrank me, but if you're addressing me as a guy with an eye for the ladies, yes, you do," he said. "Go enjoy that meal, and the job you're getting."

"It's not a sure thing yet," she pointed out.

"I'm willing to lay down some good money that it is," Bucky said. "Now go on, the shelter's closing for the day, and you have an interview to get to. Do you have enough for cab fare?"

"Sure do," Ella said. "I'm good at making money stretch, and you gave me more than I probably needed." She pulled him into a hug. "Merry Christmas, Barnes. You get home to that friend that needs you, enjoy the holiday."

Getting hugs from pretty ladies never bothered him, and this one seemed like a special Christmas gift. "Merry Christmas, Ella. I'd better not see you here again."

"God willing," she said, then headed out with the other vets.

Bucky watched to make sure she got into her cab safely, then offered to help the kitchen staff with clean up. They chased him out, so he went home.

Steve was up and waiting for him, still in his pajamas and sitting by the tree like an excited little kid waiting for his parents to get up so he could open his gifts from Santa. "You're home earlier than normal."

Bucky tugged off his boots and shoved them into the coat closet. "They wouldn't let me help with kitchen clean up today," he said. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

Steve grinned. "Merry Christmas. Now get over here and open your presents."

With a melodramatic sigh, Bucky flopped onto the couch Steve wasn't occupying. "What about you? I bought that wrapping paper just to try to convince you to tear it like a normal person. You've got gifts to unwrap, too."

"And I will," Steve said. "But you first."

"It's too early for you," Bucky said, but grabbed the presents, handing Steve's his, wrapped in shiny Captain America wrapping paper, before taking his own and sitting back down with them. Making a point of shredding the blue and silver wrapping paper- Steve was much nicer than Bucky had been, and Bucky had a feeling he'd be paying for it next year -and stared at the text book. "Isn't this one of the books Tony was going to give me to catch me up on science?" he asked.

Steve grinned. "I didn't know what to give you this year, so I asked Tony to give me the names he wanted you to have so I could give them to you instead. You need a new hobby, so I'm helping."

"Lemme guess, these others are the same?" Bucky asked, eyeing the three other wrapped gifts that looked roughly the same size and shape as the book he was holding.

"Not gonna deny it," Steve said. "There's a few other things, but you're hard to shop for."

"That's okay, there's not much variety in your presents, either," Bucky admitted. "Speaking of, open yours, before I hit you on the head with this book."

Steve made a point of picking on Bucky for being too much like his brother that they both got him art supplies. Bucky again threatened him with a thick text book to the head. Steve laughed at him.

Bucky had enough time to take a quick nap after he'd put his texts away on the bookcase, and find a place for his own new sketchbook and pencils, given with the thought of getting back into designing weapons. That left a box of tools that Steve'd had made to not slip in Bucky's left hand when he finally got to work with Tony and Bruce. He left Steve to play around with his paints and canvas. Bucky would've rather sat down with his new toys, but he had to cook two geese that afternoon for a group of ten people, three of whom needed more than one serving's worth of food.

Thank everything that geese were big birds.

Steve had cleaned up the gift mess and was at the table, testing mixed colors on a canvas he'd chosen to be his scratch canvas. Bucky was glad he'd picked up more than one of those things.

Steve looked behind him when Bucky wandered into the main room. "Did you get enough sleep to make it tonight?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Might yawn a bit, but I won't burn the birds. I'm aiming to impress some people who are used to gourmet food, my adrenaline levels from the panicking are going to keep me going."

"You are not going to panic," Steve said. "If you need to, Bruce might've come up with something that will stick in your system like caffeine used to. You can always ask."

Bucky stared up at the screen, pulled into the ceiling, out of the way of the tree and the view out of the windows. "Good point. JARVIS, can you lower the screen, please? I need to call Bruce."

"Doctor Banner is currently at his apartment," JARVIS said, as the screen lowered. "He does not seem to be busy, though. Shall I put in the call?"

"Please," Bucky said, rubbing his face with his flesh hand. Despite what he told Steve, he was tired. He was right in that he'd make it, but he might not enjoy the party as much as if he'd had better sleep.

Bruce's face appeared on screen. "Merry Christmas," he said in greeting. "I have a feeling this isn't a social call, since we have a party to attend in a couple hours."

Bucky looked apologetic. "Merry Christmas and good guess. I have two geese to cook between now and then, and I'm getting a bit sleep deprived, even by my standards. I don't suppose you've found anything that can give me an energy kick with my metabolism rate?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, actually, I did," Bruce said, brightening. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to test it, see how it works. I was going to ask Steve after the holidays, since I know you don't like being experimented on, but if you're willing, we can meet up in the medlab. I'll have it ready."

"This is one experiment I don't mind," Bucky said. "As long as it doesn't put me back to sleep and I end up burning the geese, it's fine."

"It won't," Bruce said. "I'll meet you in a few minutes."

"I won't be far behind," Bucky said. "I have to put in a call to Tony real quick."

They exchanged good byes, and then Bucky had JARVIS contact Tony.

When Tony appeared on screen, he looked far too peppy for Bucky's current sleep status. "Well, hey, good afternoon, old guy! You look tired."

Bucky couldn't do more than stare at him for a moment, squinting slightly. "I've had about five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight," he said. "And I'm not on a mission to keep me awake."

"I could offer coffee, but that doesn't work on you."

"It doesn't. I'm going to go to the medlab in a minute; Bruce has developed something to try for that. But I have a problem that you might help me with."

"I'm all ears," Tony said, cupping his hands behind his ears.

Bucky resisted the urge say something smart to that. "I have two geese, and I have only one oven up here."

"Oh. That's it? I was going to give you access to the industrial kitchens that cook for Stark Industries functions." Then he got a childish grin. "You're gonna love 'em. I'll meet you and Bruce at the medlab, then take you down to them. I want to see your face when you see what you get all to yourself today. That'll be your present to me for Christmas, as long as you don't disappoint me."

"I thought I already gave you a present," Bucky said.

"That present got cut short, you owe me another one."

Bucky tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling to hide the amusement on his face. Once he was sure he wasn't going to laugh, he looked back at Tony. "Yeah, but we had fun."

Tony looked like he was seriously considering how fun that had been. "True. You still don't get to disappoint me. I'll meet you down at the lab."

They disconnected, and Bucky turned to go get socks and his boots on.

"Going to invite your best friend along on this trip?" Steve said from his seat at the table.

Bucky stopped and looked back to see him half turned in his seat, his canvas full of nonsense colors on the table easel in front of him. "You're playing with your paints," Bucky said. "I figured you'd wanna keep doing that."

Steve looked up at the clock, then back to Bucky. "It's almost time for the party anyway, I can head with Bruce out to the dining room, see who else has shown up so far. Besides, whatever Bruce has made might work on me, too. Kinda wanna see what it is."

Bucky shrugged. "I'll wait for you, then."

Steve was still cleaning up his palette when Bucky returned with socks on. It took him another minute to join Bucky- who had stopped to grab his tablet so he had access to his recipes -at the door and put on his shoes. They let JARVIS lock up behind them.

Bruce was already at the medlab when they got there, once they'd navigated their way through the medical center proper back to Bruce's custom lab, proudly labeled as his. He was playing with some pill bottles, dividing several rather large pills between them. He looked up. "Oh, good, you're here." He held up the bottles. "One for each of you. I didn't know you were coming, Cap, I was just going to have Bucky give them to you later."

Bucky took his bottle from Bruce, reading the label. "Methylphenidate-C?"

"Methylphenidate is Ritalin," Bruce said. "It's a dopamine reuptake inhibitor. Basically, it increases concentrations of dopamine and norepinephrine."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Science to English translation, please?"

"It's a psychostimulant," Bruce said. "Increases concentration, combats fatigue, keeps you alert. It's often prescribed for ADHD and ADD in children. The C part stands for caffeine. Normally, combining caffeine and Ritalin is a bad idea- the two have similar effects in that they both are stimulants, and combining them tends to send normal people into the tenth dimension from how over stimulated they are. The drop down tends to be worse, too, so you'll wanna watch for that."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "So in other words, you're drugging us up to our eyeballs in the hope that if we have enough of it, it'll take longer for our bodies to metabolize them."

"Not entirely," Bruce said. "Well, yes, essentially, but I modified some of the compounds a bit, increased their half life values. They should just last longer in general."

Bucky shook one of the pills out into his hand. "This is a horse pill."

"You can cut them in half," Bruce said. "But I recommend just having a glass of water to chase it down with."

"Chase what down with?" Tony's voice asked from behind them.

Bucky half-turned and shook his bottle side to side for Tony to see. "These horse pills that Bruce is drugging us with. Ritalin and caffeine mixed into a lovely cocktail of what the hell."

Tony walked over, looking at the pill in Bucky's hand. "Ritalin and caffeine. That'd make an average person have a heart attack."

"Which is why he thinks it might work on us," Bucky said. He looked around the room for a sink. He spotted one, but no signs of any safe drinking glasses nearby. He motioned towards the sink. "Mind if I get a drink?"

Bruce turned to look at the sink behind him. "There's no glasses, but if you want, sure. I wasn't as prepared for you as I thought."

"I called you on short notice," Bucky said, walking over to the sink. He turned on the water, made sure it wasn't running hot, then popped the pill and took a drink, having to tilt his head sideways to catch the stream. He swallowed and straightened, squeezing some water out of his hair. "Note to self, move hair out of the way first." He made the same face he'd get when he was forced to eat peas as a child. "Those pills taste awful, Bruce."

Bruce chuckled. "I hadn't made them for regular use. If I had, I would've tried to be nicer. They're for emergencies only, at least until we can safely observe the effects they have on you two."

Bucky tucked his prescription bottle into one of his cargoes' pockets. "Your turn, Steve, I ain't suffering alone."

Steve studied his bottle. "I don't know, I got enough sleep. I don't think I need that much of an energy hit."

"Probably not," Tony agreed, taking Steve's bottle from him and looking over the medicine information. "But it'd be best to find out how they work in a controlled setting. They could be useful out on a job, and you don't want to be experimenting with drugs in the field. For all you know, with your altered DNA, this stuff could put you to sleep."

Steve looked reluctant, then looked skyward as if praying for strength to do something he didn't want to do, and held his hand out for the bottle. "You make a point, and I hate that you make a point. Gimme one, I'll go test it."

"It would be interesting if the medicine has different effects on you two," Bruce said. "The chemicals used to enhance you both were different. While the results were roughly the same, the way they might have altered your genetics to allow for those enhancements might mean that what works for one, won't work for the other. I'll need those blood samples I mentioned eventually, but I'll be nice, since it's Christmas, and not beg too hard in the meantime."

"You'll get your blood, Banner," Bucky said. "Vampire."

Bruce grinned. "I don't drink it, I just drop chemicals in it to watch it turn pretty colors."

"And you don't sparkle," Tony added.

Steve smothered a laugh with a cough. "Those were probably the worst books I've ever read."

"I've read worse," Tony said. "I made the mistake of reading the Save The Pearls trilogy. If you are a decent human being and have a problem with racism, do your blood pressure a favor and don't read it."

Bucky pulled his tablet out of his pants' biggest pocket and turned it on.

"Looking it up?" Tony asked.

"I want to see how bad it is," Bucky said, doing a search. He took a step back as Steve walked past him to take one of their new pills from Bruce. After skimming the Wikipedia article on the first book, he promptly shut down his tablet and put it away. "I will never complain about Harry Potter again."

"Oh god," Steve said from the sink, wiping his mouth. "Bruce, those pills taste terrible! It was like having chalk in my mouth the second the water hit it."

Bruce shrugged helplessly. "Like I said, if it was something you'd have to take regularly, I would've at least coated them to disguise the taste. You shouldn't need it more than occasionally, so you'll just have to accept the chalky taste."

Steve whole expression was one of disgust, and he kept smacking his lips like doing so might get rid of the taste. "Okay, Bucky, that goose had better be fantastic, because anything short of that isn't going to get this flavor out of my mouth."

"Wimp," Bucky said. "Speaking of the goose, though, Tony." He looked over at the man in question. "Where is this kitchen? And is that where the food I bought is being kept?"

"The kitchen, yes! The food's there, ready and waiting. Two thawed smoked geese, your spices and wine, various vegetables, a _lot_ of potatoes, the hard boiled eggs that I'm not sure what you're going to do with, the sugars, biscuit dough, flour, and god only knows what else. Sound good?"

"I'll take full inventory when I get down there," Bucky said.

Bruce frowned. "Are you planning on feeding the Avengers, or a regular army unit?"

"You mean they're not the same?" Bucky asked. "There's three of us with accelerated metabolisms, and I'm sure someone will want to take leftovers home to reheat later. The food won't go to waste."

"Don't bother asking what he's making," Steve said. "He won't tell me beyond 'goose'. And cookies."

Tony perked up. "Cookies? What kind of cookies?"

"Depends on how much time I have," Bucky said. "And what ingredients there are to work with. I planned for two types, at least."

"Are you going to have time to cook everything, Buck?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked back at him. "I'm going to be spending about three hours in there, a lot of that time waiting while the geese or the drizzle for the geese cook. I have plenty of time to make other things, rather than just twiddle my damn thumbs. Christmas dinner does not mean just one dish. And Christmas doesn't get to be Christmas without some damn Christmas cookies."

"You could've had a good career in the food industry," Tony said. He looked at Bruce and pointed at Bucky. "Have you had any of his food yet? It's fantastic."

"Can't say that I have," Bruce said. "But uh. If the gourmet of the group says it's good, I'll look forward to it."

Bucky shrugged. "I like cooking. If I'd made it my career, I would've ended up hating it. Designing weapons is something I can go home from. Cooking isn't. I'd still have to cook my own dinner."

Tony nodded his head side to side. "Okay, fair. Completely fair. Anyway, come on, I want to see what you think of the wonder that is the kitchen you'll be using tonight."

"Lead on, and I'll get started. The rest of you can start socializing without me."

"Not to be crass or anything," Bruce said, moving to follow them out the door, "but we rather planned on it. I'm going to get Natasha and Clint. I agreed to let Natasha come, but only in a wheelchair that keeps her leg straight and elevated. She's not happy, but Clint made her compromise."

Bucky grunted. "Good. She's a stupid woman."

Bruce parted ways with them at a junction in the med center, one hall running off towards the recovery room Natasha was in, the main hall leading out.

"You are going to love this kitchen," Tony said once they were on the elevators.

"So you've said," Bucky said. "Keep overstating it, and it'll be a disappointment to whatever I'm picturing in my head."

"I doubt that," Tony said.

Bucky decided to not argue, just marking what floor they got off on and their route as Tony led them back into the ball room, which now had a single large table set up near the back of the room, with a socialization area nearby, couches and chairs and small tables scattered about in a loose circular formation. There were rooms that ran off from both sides of the back. Tony said one went to the security office, with the other side near the podium being a small office to prepare for speeches. The room they were interested in, however, was closer to the table, in the room further from the security room.

Bucky had to stop in his tracks upon entering the kitchen, staring at the sterile, stainless steel room full of fridges, stoves, ovens, and an endless supply of counter space. There were pots and pans hanging from hoods over the counters and ovens, and drawers and cupboards, he could only imagine full of every dish and utensil needed to cook whatever he damn well pleased.

"You just had a kitchengasm, didn't you?" Tony asked.

Bucky forced himself to stop staring into the kitchen to look at the smug grin on Tony's face. "That's accurate, yes." Behind them, Steve just laughed.

Tony motioned Bucky towards one of the refrigerators. "Take inventory, Master Chef. If there's anything missing, I'll have it brought in immediately."

Bucky beelined to the nearest fridge and grabbed his tablet out of his pocket, pulling up the recipes he wanted to make. Two geese, every ingredient needed for the drizzle, for the candied carrots, roasted cauliflower, deviled eggs, biscuits, the herbed green beans, as well as the ginger cookies and the Russian Tea Lights he was making, mostly with Natasha in mind.

He looked around. "Where are the potatoes?"

Tony pointed to a vegetable bin under one of the island-style counters. "Down there, ten pounds of potatoes, as requested. What the hell are you making that we need ten pounds of potatoes?"

"Mashed potatoes. There's ten of us, three who eat more than one serving," Bucky said. "Just be glad I'm not doing Irish cooking for Christmas. You could easily double that number."

Steve made an irritated face at him. "Stop making fun of my country's food, filthy colonist."

"Dirty immigrant. Now out, both you, out of my kitchen. Go get the others and talk for awhile. You'll see me again in about three and a quarter hours."

Tony put on a dramatic face. "Oh, but that's forever from now! How will we survive?"

Bucky pointed very sternly at the door. " _Out_."

Once they were gone, Bucky went to work.

The three and quarter hours went by quickly, with the ten pounds of fucking potatoes taking up most of his time. If it weren't for how many ovens there were, allowing him to cook two types of cookies at the same time, then the biscuits in one and the roasted cauliflower in another in the last twenty minutes before the geese finished, he would've had to skip on a lot of the food he'd planned.

He was glad for that Ritalin/Caffeine pill Bruce had given him. That shit had him practically bouncing around the kitchen.

It took him a minute to figure out how to get two main dishes, five sides, and two generous platters of cookies out of the kitchen without making multiple trips. He finally located a serving cart, piled the food on it, took a second to steel his nerves- he'd never made a nice dinner like this for anyone, much less a group of people he was looking to impress -and pushed it out to the ballroom.

The rest of the Avengers were seated at the socialization area, Natasha next to Clint's chair in her wheelchair, her left leg sticking out like a tripping hazard. Their talking stopped upon seeing the gigantic dinner Bucky had just spent over three hours making for them.

"Oh my god," Pepper said upon standing and getting a good look at how much food Bucky was putting on the dining table. "I didn't realize you were treating us to a royal banquet."

Thor stood, waiting patiently as Steve got up and offered his hand to Sharon, then followed the others as they filed over to the table. "It smells as good as any feast I have attended in Asgard."

Bucky heard Natasha squabble a bit at Clint and looked over in time to see Natasha hitting Clint's hand away from the handles of her wheelchair, asserting that she could wheel herself over. She stubbornly tried to navigate to the table without her injured leg hitting the table. She ultimately situated herself at the end where she could sit sideways and her left leg wouldn't hit anyone in the side.

Steve sat himself where Sharon could sit on one side of him, leaving the other side for Bucky. Bucky claimed the chair by holding onto the back of it, waiting until it was clear that he didn't have to run off to get something he forgot.

Maria sat down on the seat next to him. "Mind some company?" she asked.

Bucky smiled. "Not at all. You're prettier to look at than him," he said, giving Steve's shoulder a good-natured jab.

Steve gave him a dirty look and pointed at Bucky's seat. "Sit down next to your pretty lady and your put out friend. You don't get to sit dinner out after making it."

"I'm not," Bucky said. "I'm making sure I don't have to run and get something I forgot."

"I do not think you forgot anything, Bucky," Thor assured him, already helping himself to some goose. "I see the table wants for nothing."

Tony had already grabbed a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth. "I agree," he said around a mouthful of food. "Sit. Enjoy. It smells fantastic, and I see why you had ten pounds of potatoes. That is a lot of mashed potatoes."

While Bucky sat down, Bruce looked over the offerings, grabbing a platter and dishing himself some of the herbed green beans, and the group quickly fell into a dish-and-pass pattern, food going around the table until everyone had gotten what they wanted. "Did you make this all from scratch?" Bruce asked.

"Except the biscuits. I cheated and had Pillsbury help me with those."

"I think we can forgive you for that, with everything else," Clint said, passing a tray of cookies to Natasha.

Natasha took the tray and stared at the cookies, picking up one. "Are these Russian Tea Lights?" She looked genuinely shocked.

Bucky smiled. "They are. Made them with you in mind, I figured the wounded party member deserved something nice for Christmas to make up for having to spend it in a wheelchair."

For a brief moment, Bucky thought she might get wet-eyed, but if she did, he couldn't see it. What he did see, though, was a genuine smile. She held up the cookie. "You worked hard on it," she said, popping the tea light in her mouth and passing the tray along after grabbing a couple more for her plate.

Bucky decided that his cooking had turned out all right after all, certainly worth the time he put into it, and the compliments from his friends made it obvious that they thought so as well. Conversation lingered even after plates were emptied, filled, and emptied again.

With the end of dinner came the promise of having to clean the kitchen. Bucky slumped in his seat a bit, staring back at the kitchen. He wanted to kick his feet and whine that he didn't wanna, but it wasn't going to do itself. With a sigh, he stood and started gathering up plates.

Steve looked up at him as Bucky grabbed his plate. "What're you doing?"

"Going to go clean up," Bucky said. "Unless Tony wants me to ruin his nice cookware and dishes by leaving them to mold up in the sinks."

"We'll do it," Tony said. "I don't normally volunteer for work, but you made us this dinner, call it our thank you." He stood. "You can keep Natasha from trying to join us and get in our way."

Natasha glowered at him. "Stark, if there was a way to hit you with my brain-"

"You would've done it already," Tony said, finishing her threat with a smile far too bright to be anything other than smart assed. He looked at Bucky. "Seriously, you two go sit down, we got this."

Bucky couldn't even protest before the others chimed in, telling him to plant his ass. Not wanting to take on all the Avengers, and not particularly wanting to win if he did, Bucky shrugged and wandered off to claim a spot on a couch. Natasha wheeled herself over behind him.

She maneuvered herself to next to a chair that Bucky assumed would be where Barton would be sitting, putting herself across from Bucky. She studied him, tilted her head forward like she was studying a strange bug. "Is that your Cornhuskers shirt?"

He looked down at the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, then shrugged, looking up at her. "I don't have anything green, and this was the warmest red shirt I had. I need more color in my wardrobe, I think." He smiled. "Besides, it's Christmas, it's a good time to wear a gift from a friend."

The same look she had when she asked about the cookies showed up on her face, then a sort of half smile, one that looked genuine and not at all that Mona Lisa smile that he at once loved and hated. "I can see why Steve said you used to be a lady's man. You're very good at handing out compliments."

He sat back, folding his hands behind his head. "I think people need to hand out more compliments, at least to friends. We'd make each other a lot happier if we did." He tilted his head slightly to look at her better. "So how's it feel to be home for Christmas?"

She gave her leg an evil glare. "It'd be better if I could at least sit properly, but-" She smiled again. "It's nice. And I should be asking you that myself. New place to live, new family to celebrate with, and it seem like you've been accepted as one of us. New freedom."

Bucky turned his head to look in towards the kitchen. "It's nice. That whole 'I'll Be Home For Christmas' song we'd hear at USO shows was kinda the way it was for a long time. Only in my dreams, you know?" He looked back at her. "Is that song still popular?"

Natasha nodded wearily. "Oh, yes. Every pop and country artist ever has done a recording of it, and you can hear twenty versions of it in a store in a forty minute span of time. Was it your favorite growing up?"

He blinked. "What? No, that song didn't come around until after the war started. My favorite was 'On A Good Old Time Sleigh Ride'. Ever hear of it?"

She shook her head. "No. When was it written?"

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, then stopped to actually think about it. "Not sure, actually. It came out a few years before I was born, though. I figured if the stuff from the war era was still in memory, maybe what I grew up on was. I know Jingle Bells is still around and annoying parents everywhere."

Natasha actually laughed, just a subtle and amused noise. "With all sorts of childish variations, including questioning Batman's personal hygiene." She looked towards the kitchen, the sounds of their friends talking and occasionally yelping as dishware and pans and pots and silverware clinked and clattered.

Bucky almost considered going in to supervise, since it sounded like they couldn't be trusted to clean a kitchen as a team without someone coordinating the efforts, but he decided against it. He didn't want back in that kitchen to help clean anything. He looked away from the noise when he saw Natasha look over at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Merry Christmas, James," she said.

He resisted the urge to cringe at the use of his name. "Merry Christmas, Natalia." There, see how she liked it.

She stared at him. "I call you Bucky, you call me Natasha and those two names are not spoken of unless there is trouble."

Having gotten the reaction he hoped, he grinned. "You got it. So let's try that again. Merry Christmas, Natasha."

Once more, there was that smile, and Bucky decided he liked that smile, would happily find new ways to put it there. "Merry Christmas, Bucky. Welcome home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having had Ritalin and a high dose of caffeine in tandem, I can vouch for the tenth dimension thing. I am never allowed to take Ritalin plus 200mg of caffeine again. It results in a chapter almost 7k long.


End file.
